There was a piece on one of the radio programs that I listen to while climbing the cliffs of Koster. They interviewed Johan Rockström, the director of Stockholm Resilience Centre where I study, about ecological illiteracy, and then they talked with WWOOFers at an organic farm on Ekerö in Stockholm.
Oh, it made me want to go back to Whiskey Creek Farm on Vancouver Island or Duckworth Farm in Sonoma Valley again, so bad.
I grew up in the city, but still, I don’t think I could be considered one of those ecologically illiterate people, not even before my university studies in geography and sustainability science. I spent all my childhood summers either in my grandmother’s big kitchen garden, at my uncle’s organic farm or on the island in the Stockholm archipelago that my parents rented. The island lacked both electricity and running water. As a teenager, I spent all of my free time at the stables, riding and taking care of the horses. I grew up knowing where food comes from and what hard work it entails to grow it.
I don’t need to go WWOOFing to remedy my ecological illiteracy. I want to go anyway. Like. Now. The soreness from working hard with your body, and the incredible sleep that follows. There is a physical contentment that isn’t achievable from a desk at the library.
But I need other things too. My mind is an insatiable beast and I don’t think I would be happy making a living out of farming. I need to get my master’s degree, because I think that will lead me on to a career that will make me happy. Or at least something sufficiently close to happiness. But. That’s why WWOOFing is such a great concept. I can go to get my hands dirty on the holidays. Next summer. Dedicated for WWOOFing. That’s my plan.
Katja Malmborg 