The sadness of farmers

Yesterday I went to visit Bonk Farm in Waimea, on the northern part of the island.  It was part of our agricultural career workshop for the teens that do 4-H livestock projects.  The farm was beautiful, but the farmer was sad.  I kept looking at his hands that were covered with the fine chalky dirt of the Mana plain. They were strong yet elegant hands, for all that they were caked in dirt and cracked with toil.  Mr. Bonk rubbed at the dirt on his fingers as he told of his many and increasing difficulties in being a farmer.  Partly this is to be expected: it is simply being honest about the heavy burden of toil and care that producing food for others imposes on a mortal human frame.  But he was sad in a way that seemed especially keen.  He said, more than once: "If you go into farming, don't expect anyone to help you, because they won't" 

And there it is, we don't help small farmers like Mr. Bonk nearly enough.  He should really be covered in honors.  He has a verdant, almost glowing organic farm and is clearly competent, persistent, resourceful and cares deeply about the health of his farm.  He deserves the full support of our society and community, but instead it is he that supports everyone else that does not raise their own food.   

There are farmers that do very well financially and see their farm almost purely as a business, there are those who make enough money and are happy with the life they lead with its many non-monetary rewards, and there are those that farm with passion and sadness, almost a kind of rage.  

Which of these are the most "successful" farmers I don't know.