The Grim Corn Reaper

My love of power tools has left me in the position more than once here at the farm of being asked to use the gas-powered weed-whacker to clear a plot. Back in Avodah 1987, a weed whacker meant a wooden pole with a semi-circle of metal attached to it, with a double-sided blade attached to it. It was powered by 17 year old hormones, and that's it. But now, we have these cool new-fangled gas powered thingys. And while I like to pretend to be old and wax nostalgic for the good old days, I'm liking the 2010 version of weed-whacking just fine!

So anyway, I weed whacked a field a few weeks ago that had contained cover crops. That was fun, and I had no qualms about it; the next day, Jakir tilled the field under and now there are melons growing there.

But on Friday, Abby approached me solemnly and asked me how I'd feel about weed-whacking. "I'd love to!" I responded, eager to get back into power-tools usage. "What needs eliminating?" I asked.

"The corn," she said, sadly.

"Really? The corn?" I asked. "Why?" I asked, incredulous.

The farm tried growing corn for the first time this year. The field as I stood in front of it with my tool of destruction contained perhaps 30 plants identifiable as corn-like.

It seems that the powers that be had determined that a) it was not at all clear that the few plants were numerous enough or close enough to cross-fertilize as they'd need to, and b) too few stalks had actually grown, and the plot was too big to be this unbountiful-- we'd need the space for something else.

And so, "The Salad Spinner" became "The Grim Corn Reaper." And I couldn't help but wonder (in the spirit of Carrie Bradshaw), why is that we don't have a blessing for such a moment?

I've wondered aloud before with my friends here about why we don't have a planting blessing or a harvesting blessing. The long and short of it seems to be: we don't say a blessing until the process is complete, as in, once we harvest the food and prepare it, we say a blessing before we eat it. I guess that makes some sense, but only to the extent that human beings, and our needs, are the measure of all things, which I'm not sure I ascribe to.

We do have blessings for when observe kings and comets and lighting; we do have blessings of joy and sorrow; maybe that's what I felt like saying before I slew the (not so) mighty corn: Baruch Dayan Emet. Blessed are You, Adonai, The Truthful Judge. That's what we say when we hear of a death. Distinctly not: Blessed are You, who makes bad things happen along with good, but rather, Blessed is the Truthful Judge, as in, acknowledge that God is in the good and the bad. I wanted to acknowledge-- even name, that, despite OUR best efforts at preparing soil, planting, and weeding, God with whom we are partners in the unfolding work of creation evidently answered our (non) prayer for a bountiful corn harvest by saying no. In that spirit, for the corn that wasn't meant to be, I say,

Blessed are You, Adonai, the Truthful Judge.

It feels better somehow. I think. I'll get back to you. But i hope not to have to whack any more innocent produce anytime soon.