Friday Tunes: A Month of Sundays

This week’s installment of labour themes in popular culture features Don Henley’s “A Month of Sundays”. The song is sung from the perspective of an old farmer who is reflecting on the changes he’s seen since the 1950s (I think this was released in about 1985) and seems like an appropriate harvest-season song.

There is a lot (lyrically speaking) to chew on. One theme is the farmer’s pride in his work and ability to earn a living in difficult circumstances:

Between the hot, dry weather and the taxes, and the Cold War
It's been hard to make ends meet
But I always put the clothes on our backs,
But I always get the shoes on our feet

Yet this pride is tempered by a sense of loss as the industry has changed:

The big boys, they all got computers, got incorporated too
Me, I just know how to raise things
That was all I ever knew
Now, it all comes down to numbers
Now, I'm glad that I have quit
Folks these days just don't do nothin'
Simply for the love of it

While it is easy to get lost in the emotion of this verse, there is a bit of an untold story here. The trend towards agricultural consolidation into larger and more highly capitalized farms is undeniable as possibly unstoppable given the cost-price squeeze facing farmers in late capitalism. Yet, setting aside questions of environmental sustainability, are such farms inherently undesirable?

While corporate agriculture makes an easy target, there is often a false dichotomy between so-called family farms and corporate farms. It is possible to increase farm capitalization in ways (e.g., cooperatives) that don’t entail moving towards corporate farming. Perhaps this farmer’s inability to let function dictate form (i.e., his desire to hang onto his independence as a sole producer) is as much the cause of his misfortune as is the pressures of capitalism?

Hard to work that complexity into a catchy song, though. Anyhow, here is Henley singing at Farm Aid 1985:



I used to work for Harvester
I used to use my hands
I used to make the tractors and the combines that plowed and harvested this great land
Now I see my handiwork on the block everywhere I turn
And I see the clouds 'cross the weathered faces and I watch the harvest burn

I quit the plant in '57
Had some time for farmin' then
Banks back then was lending money
The banker was the farmer's friend
And I've seen the dog days and dusty days
Late spring snow and early fall sleet;
I've held the leather reins in my hands and felt the soft ground under my feet
Between the hot, dry weather and the taxes, and the Cold War

It's been hard to make ends meet
But I always put the clothes on our backs,
But I always get the shoes on our feet

My grandson, he comes home from college
He says, "We get the government we deserve"
My son-in-law just shakes his head and says, "That little punk, he never had to serve"
And I sit here in the shadow of suburbia and look out across these empty fields
I sit here in earshot of the bypass and all night I listen to the rushin' of the wheels

The big boys, they all got computers, got incorporated too
Me, I just know how to raise things
That was all I ever knew
Now, it all comes down to numbers
Now, I'm glad that I have quit
Folks these days just don't do nothin'
Simply for the love of it

I went into town on the Fourth of July
Watched 'em parade past the Union Jack
Watched 'em break out the brass and beat on the drum
One step forward and two steps back
And I saw a sign on Easy Street, said "Be Prepared to Stop"
Pray for the independent, little man
I don't see next year's crop
And I sit here on the back porch in the twilight
And I hear the crickets hum

I sit and watch the lightning in the distance but the showers never come
I sit here and listen to the wind blow
I sit here and rub my hands
I sit here and listen to the clock strike, and I wonder if I'll see my companion again

-- Bob Barnetson