Muscle In The Arm

One of the great things about having a child is, of course, introducing him or her to things you loved as a child. But often even more delightful is incorporating new material into your own "childhood" to which you simply were never exposed the first time around. One thing I've marveled at since my son was only a couple of months old was the extent to which farm life continues to permeate childhood songs and stories in our culture, even as the kinds of farms envisioned, and the kind of life, become more and more rare. There are the ubiquitous Old MacDonald and See-n-say, and countless other books and ditties that acquaint youngsters with things like cows long before they ever see one in the flesh. What I can't decide is whether this as an artifact of agrarian society, or nostalgia for it, or both. Maybe 100 years from now, after our current professional pursuits have followed those of the small farmer down the roads of co-optation and disintermediation, our children's children will sing their children songs about the creatures inhabiting concrete tilt-up cube farms, and teach them all about their various quirks, noises, and smells. You think?

When I first came to this land

I was not a wealthy man.

So I got myself a farm

And I did what I could.

And I called my farm — a muscle in the arm.

But the land was sweet and good

And I did what I could.

When I first came to this land

I was not a wealthy man.

So I got myself a cow

And I did what I could.

And I called my cow — no milk now.

And I called my farm — a muscle in the arm.

But the land was sweet and good

And I did what I could.

(Add choruses:)

And I called my pig — dance a jig

And I called my horse — plough the course

And I called my duck — very good luck

And I called my tree — shade for me

And I called my wife — love of my life

And I called my son — no work done

etc.