Farm life series #3: life & death
The context: I have moved to a Finca (farm) in the Alpujarra, Southern Spain in late November 2021. It has no potable water, no glass in the windows and no heating. However, it does have a lot of heart and a kind farmer whose finca it was for three generations looking out for me. It has beautiful views during the day and a sky full of stars at night and it is quiet. Like a balm to my soul. It has slow and limited internet and a library full of books that I have dragged with me all over Europe. I have decided to write some reflections about life here as I grow into it.
I look at the small dead fish floating in the alberca with a knot in my throat and scoop it up gently in the palm of my hand. The water is cold, I look at its shiny scales imagining briefly what it is like to live in the alberca and the different possible reasons for it’s untimely or timely death.
Under the fig tree I have set up a simple compost pile with two palettes framed under between the two tree trunks and the wall. I plop the fish in the compost thanking it for the nutrients it will provide to the soil.
“It is natural to die as to be born” — Francis Bacon.
The farmer looks at me curiously wondering what I am doing without saying anything. Finally I ask him if he knew why the fish had died, he didn’t. My theory is that since we have not…
