But we painted the word "Quivira" on the side of our little dingy, in honor of a mythical land beyond rightdoing and wrongdoing, and we began to row. Shortly, we saw that we were not alone. Other people were rowing with us, not many at first, but all looking toward a hopeful horizon. As we rowed, we talked, and it became clear that many of the people in the sea with us had not simply abandoned the ship called the "grazing debate." They had jumped other ships – the industrial food system, the way energy should be produced, how we treat animals, and so on.

What we were all opting out from, I see now, was one very big ship – the U.S.S. Juggernaut, steaming full speed ahead toward a rocky shore, full of nervous passengers, the door to the steering house firmly locked from inside. Alright, but where were we heading? It wasn’t clear at first, but over time I saw the outline of a misty land ahead I’ve begun to call Agraria – a place where we strengthen the bond between people and land; teach each other how to live within limits; share what works on the back forty; and celebrate the arts of life. Agraria is not a dream – it exists. I’ve been there.

Are we rowing fast enough for all of us to get there in time? I don’t know. What I do know is that our children deserve a healthy planet, a whole economy, and lives full of right relationships. Anything less is immoral.

After all, it’s their future. And it’s in our hands.

Meanwhile, I’ll holster my indignation and return to my pastoral pursuits. There’s not much to be gained by ruining a supper under the pines with nonstop Humpty Dumpty thoughts. Where I live, summer is too brief – gone in a flash of monsoon