Why am I doing this? I ask myself that question at least 20 times a day while I’m working on the homestead.
I had all kinds of reasons when I first started. I wanted to lower my carbon footprint by growing my own food. I wanted to eat healthy, organic food. I wanted to live in harmony with the land.
And while those reasons for my work haven’t gone away entirely, they take up less space in my mind.
Now, when I’m hunched over, pulling weeds in the garden, I remember that joke about gardeners spending six months and hundreds of dollars to grow vegetables that they could buy at the grocery store for a dollar.
When it’s 30ºC and humid outside, while I’m covered in sawdust building a new chicken coop, I think about how much easier it would be to just buy pasture-raised eggs at the grocery store.
When I come into the house smelling like the two kilgrams of rabbit manure that I sprinkled on the garden to help it grow, I think of all the activities I could be doing that don’t involve excrement.
Simply put, motivation is temporary. Idealism is fragile. And it’s rare that our dreams survive their headlong collision with reality. If we want to continue in our work for a period longer than a few days or a few weeks, there has to be something else that fuels us.
In my own life, I find that the real reason I continue with the arduous tasks that come with running a homestead—pulling weeds, caring for animals, managing a greenhouse, and so on—is that I love doing it. I enjoy the work.
Of course, that doesn’t mean that I love every minute of it. There are moments that feel a bit uncomfortable, to say the least. But I enjoy the satisfaction that comes from working outside when the weather is bad. I like the feeling I get when I bring the animals food and they greet me with joy. And a deep feeling of peace settles on me each time I see new sprouts poke their heads above the soil.
Over the years, I’ve found that the key to being a successful homesteader is to be less enamored with secondary and tertiary goals. I must lose my interest in stories about successful harvests, garden tours, and sharing food with family and friends. Instead, the goal and the motivation of the work must be the work itself.
The garden becomes overwhelming when I think about what I’ll need to do for the harvest. Building a chicken coop seems impossible when I think about how much work is still undone. But when I focus my mind on loving the process. When I care solely about weeding one garden bed or driving one screw at a time, the journey becomes joyful and enlivening.
Instead of seeing the work that needs to be completed, I revel in how much I’ve accomplished, and I’m motivated to continue on the path.
In Buddhism, we’re often told that there is no goal to our training. In fact, the Heart Sutra tells us there is no attainment with nothing to attain. This is more than a little confusing because the scriptures are rife with objects and experiences that we must attain.
We must realize enlightenment. We must save all beings from suffering. We must cleanse our minds of defilements. We must learn compassion and equanimity towards all living things—so much work and so little time.
It can be overwhelming and soul-crushing to think about these things for too long. But as I continue working in my garden—pulling weeds, planting seeds, and caring for my plants—I’ve come to think that maybe our souls need to be crushed just a little bit.
Maybe the sutras give large insurmountable goals, so we can learn to stop caring so much about achieving them.
When we accept the fact that enlightenment may not come in this lifetime, we look squarely at the suffering of the world; understanding that we can’t get rid of every little bit of it. A sense of freedom arises.
We drop the shackles of our expectations and practice Buddhism for the sole purpose of practicing Buddhism. Like a gardener who cares for his chickens with no thought of the eggs they will lay, we chant, we bow, we sit with no thought of enlightenment, no thought of other sentient beings.
Our purpose for doing the work is the doing of the work itself.
Ironically, when we learn to love the work unconditionally, with no thought of ulterior motives, many of our goals are accomplished. A gardener who preps the soil, pulls the weeds, and cares for his crops will have a successful harvest.
A Buddhist who practices the Dharma in daily life, study scriptures, and engages in the ritual will realize enlightenment. But they’ll be too busy working to notice.
Namu Amida Butsu
Related features from BDG
The Barre Center for Buddhist Studies: EcoDharma Beacon
Metta Stirs It Up
Dharma’s Garden – Nourishing the Local Community through Homesteading
Suffering and Joy on a Buddhist Homestead
A Humanitarian Action for Other Living Beings: Creating Space for Urban Biodiversity through Buddhist Gardening
Planting Seeds of Understanding
