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4.0 out of 5 stars
See The Exotic Farmer In His Native Environment, October 31, 2004
This review is from: Mixed Harvest: The Second Great Transformation in the Rural North, 1870-1930 (Studies in Rural Culture) (Paperback)
Reading Barron's study of rural life makes one sympathetic to the animals on a safari tour, overhearing a guide's explanation of the savage beasts' interaction with their native environment. A fascinating and well-documented history, it is nonetheless an outsider's view; the perspective of a man who considered himself a coastal resident even while attending Oberlin College. (Or so Barron's class reunion report on Oberlin's webpage suggests.)
Barron's society, even while in transformation, is sharply delineated between farm, village, and city populations, each with its own set of needs and unique social values. In spite of the collection of case histories, the individual is entirely absent from Barron's work, as people in his history act exclusively as representatives of their communities.
In Barron's safari tour, rural people are prey, and the predators are much sexier. Every new institution, from the graded school to the farmers' grain cooperative, is either forced from the outside or a response to threats. The farmers, he constantly suggests, are only interested in preserving the values and lifestyle of the past, even begrudging students the new-fangled invention of clean toilets. When farmers do accept modern convenience it is because they are lured by shiny things - mantle clocks or free movie tickets - rather than because they believe in the need for change. Although agricultural cooperatives, good roads, and consolidated schools improved the quality of rural life, Barron never suggests that improvement was desired or planned by those involved.
Ironically, the transformed society is now traditional. Barron's book, in a sense, is a collection of "just-so" stories, explaining the origins of the Farm Bureau or the small-town social gathering. The "cruising" teenagers of Vincennes, Indiana may be alien to Barron, but they have their roots in the great transformation of the 1920s. And here is its appeal in the Midwest: it's the opportunity for the lion to step out of the safari park and say, "oh, that's what's going on!"
But Barron is writing about people, not lions, and yet his people behave more instinctively than rationally. He constantly refers to "unadorned, agrarian virtues," without ever explaining the virtues, or how they guide decisions. Fear of change seems to be the farmer's only motivation. The outsiders are either benevolent experts or fierce competitors, but only they display the capacity for rational planning rather than response. A Midwestern reader, or one from the rural north, may read Barron's work and enjoy the history, but I fear that readers from larger cities will be left looking on farmlands and their residents as exotic, backward, marginalized, and very, very, different.
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