Farm Schooling.

A wonderful kind of freedom.

It takes a special type of person to teach at a farm school.

I grew up on a small farm, and we only had two schools in the area. Our primary school was located between the small farms, and the high school was between the big farms. We grew up in our own little universe, far from suburban society.

Farm children are an unruly bunch. We saw life and death happen right in front of us, and it made us special. Most of us learned to drive at 12 or 13 years old on gravel roads that looked like dried-up riverbeds.

Our teachers understood our differences from city kids, and perhaps were too lenient. When the cow is ready to calve, and nobody else is available, you go home. Most of the older kids drove themselves to school, but the younger kids took the school bus. We drove like maniacs, it’s a wonder we never killed ourselves. But you learn early to navigate the gravel roads, cattle, and sheep that escape their pens, and other livestock.

We were mostly left to our own devices and were wild, almost feral. I learned to drink and smoke weed in high school. None of us was ever involved with criminal activity, we were just free. One of the grade 12 boys grew weed on his parents’ farm. No big drug dealer nonsense. The police never had to visit our farming community, we sorted ourselves out. There were no drinking or smoking weed during school hours, but you would find the cigarette smokers hiding behind school buildings during breaks.

One of the teachers lived across the school and had a rondavel on his property. We knew where he hid the key and would cut school and hide out for a couple of hours. He knew we were there, but he ignored us. There is a different freedom vibe in farm communities. You grow up close to nature, to the earth and the animals. We didn’t need strict rules to teach us responsibilities and kindness. Mother Nature taught us. The acceptance by our educators to develop unfettered is a gift I will always treasure.

Namaste