It’s been another hot week here in Topanga, so Katy and I have been keeping cool with fans, air conditioning, and some much-needed rest.
One of the highlights of slowing down has been stumbling across the first season of Clarkson’s Farm on Amazon, a series that follows British TV host Jeremy Clarkson as he tries to run his own farm with no prior experience.
What started as a casual watch grew into something deeper: an exploration of the patience it takes to live in step with the land, the humility of working with forces beyond control, and the ability to accept whatever grows from our effort.
Hardship and humility
The show doesn’t shy away from how demanding farming really is. Clarkson faces unpredictable weather, unresponsive crops, disobedient animals, and the steep costs of equipment and seed — all to end the season with a mere $140 in profit.
Watching this unfold, I couldn’t help but laugh with Katy that farming felt like the “final boss” of property management — every problem magnified, every variable beyond your control, and yet still requiring the same persistence and grit.
Watching this unfold, I was struck by how much farming resembles meditation: it asks for steady commitment, endless patience, and a willingness to keep showing up even when the results don’t match the effort.
Learning the land
What made the series especially engaging was how much there was to learn.
We watched Clarkson figure out how to buy and bid on tractors and the various tools that attach to them, choose and plant seeds, and time the tilling of his fields around the unpredictable English rain.
He stumbled through raising sheep and chickens, bottling spring water from the land, stocking a farm shop, and even cultivating trout in his pond.
Each task carried its own steep learning curve, revealing just how many skills and decisions go into even the simplest act of farming.
Weather and the wandering mind
One of the clearest lessons was how powerless a farmer is against the weather.
Too much rain in planting season, too little in the growing season, and the harvest is affected no matter how carefully you planned.
Meditation is similar — the “weather” of the mind shifts daily, and we can’t control it. All we can do is adapt, respond with care, and keep tending the field of practice.
Quietude in the fields
And yet, alongside the hardship, there’s a profound peace in farming.
Driving a tractor back and forth through acres of fields mirrors the steady rhythm of breath, mantra, or walking meditation — repetitive, grounding, and strangely calming.
Farmers spend long stretches of time in solitude, detached from technology and immersed in the rhythm of the land.
In that, I saw not only the grit required to grow food but also the meditative quality of tending earth with patience and presence.