OUR FARMING FATHERS

What I Learned in Conversation with Blake Berglund ...

For every farm child that grows up working alongside their father, there comes an end to their time together.

For Blake Berglund, lightning is a thread that connects him to his father; from the farm in Kennedy, SK., all the way to Nashville, Tennessee.

"There were tornado warnings a few weeks ago down in Nashville. I heard them. It scared me quite a bit. After the warnings passed, a beautiful lightning storm followed, illuminating my house through the large picture window.

I sat at the piano, inspired by the energy of the farm. I've been writing a lot about the farm and about the passing of my father.  These themes have inspired me to explore more sentimental, tender aspects of my upbringing.

And yes, the piano did deliver. I composed a really nice piece. In the song, I even mention my dad waking me up to play 'Great Balls of Fire,' just like he used to. I'd be asleep, and he'd come in, urging me to play him a song, often late at night. I always played for my dad.

He would sit at the kitchen table, and as I played the actual piano, he would mimic playing alongside me on the table. He was quite the showman, though not a musician himself, but he always encouraged my musical pursuits.

Reflecting on his passing, I realized that among all the people in my life, he was never discouraging, even in the low points of what I do, amid the challenges and tensions. It's similar to farming, with its cycles of boom and bust, like bumper crops and droughts. This is no different from the ups and downs in creative endeavors.

I think it was my dad's connection to and love for agriculture that fostered his incredible support and understanding for the highs and lows in my entrepreneurial and creative efforts. He never discouraged me. Not once did he suggest I consider something else.  His advice was always to find clarity, double down, work hard, and persevere. That's been my core philosophy: why give up? Especially with my dad's recent passing, it's cliché but true – life is short. You never know how close you are to the next breakthrough.

So here I am, in Nashville, spending time with Miles Davis's piano, writing lots of songs."

For those who leave periodically, the farm physically carries the memories of youth and calls one back over time.

"Whether we are actively involved in the farming operation or not, I have always been and will always be connected to it. Whether it's for the harvest, seeding, or any other task for the next few weeks, the farm has always needed our help. Even during the most challenging times of our lives, like a five-month period, our parents have been a constant presence in our adulthood. Myself and my three siblings have often returned to the farm intermittently.

For example, you could be dating someone for three years, living in Calgary, traveling to Vancouver, and when life becomes overwhelming, the first instinct is to move back to the farm to heal. The family farm has always been a sanctuary for us. It's a place with its own dynamics, having both disrupted our lives and caused tension, and even trauma. But it's also the place we return to for healing and rediscovering ourselves.

There’s something about manual labor that I find spiritually fulfilling. Whether it's fencing, cleaning corrals, working with horses, or feeding cattle, manual labor is a form of spiritual practice for me. Returning to the farm has always been encouraged in our family.

With the recent passing of our father, there’s been a notable change. My sister Casey, who was in Calgary, immediately moved back to the farm. She's now dividing her time between Spain and Kennedy, just as I'm between Nashville and Kennedy. Jody and Jarid are in Kennedy, along with our mother. Our father's absence has left a significant impact.

The atmosphere at the farm has shifted. We're experiencing profound grief and heartache, but there's also a sense of rebirth in our family. It's a complex situation. Grief is something you don’t fully comprehend until you're in the midst of it, leaning into it. It reveals beautiful insights that are transformative. The depth of love we're discovering can only be accessed through this process of grieving.

We're all in the process of healing, and it will be a lifelong journey. Much of this healing is happening together, at the farm."

Family members contributions constitute the wheel of the machine that is the farm, each spoke lending it’s specific strength to the forward momentum. 

"In our family, each of us is a leader in our own right, with specific areas of expertise. My siblings, Jody and Jarid, lead the development of our family's agricultural legacy. I contribute as a leader in the emotional development of our family. My sister Casey excels in spiritual guidance, and my mother is also a spiritual leader. We each have different areas of strength, and depending on the situation, we know who needs to step forward to guide the others in decision-making.

From a very young age, I have been deeply involved in solving the emotional challenges within our family dynamics. This role has evolved as I have grown emotionally and matured. There's this notion of 'parenting the parents,' where the guidance flows in both directions. Our parents raise us to the best of their abilities, and then, as cultural shifts occur and as we mature, we have the opportunity to support them emotionally, particularly in areas where they may have had less development.

The concept of the family farm encompasses more than just the land and the business; it's about a legacy of unity. In the Berglund family, we've discovered this broader legacy. My songwriting, for instance, contributes to this legacy, intertwined with the stewardship of the land. Casey's work in wellness and spirituality has been pivotal, especially during the period following my father's passing.

So, it's like a massive project where we all rise to the occasion when needed. We understand who needs to step up and when, to carry the family forward in unity."

It was the work ethic that Blake learned as a young man that propels his discipline of creation today.

"Starting at the age of 13, my brother, Jody and I would wake up at six in the morning to do two hours of chores before school. After quickly showering, we’d rush to school, and then immediately after, we'd either have hockey or piano lessons. Chores often had to wait until late at night, resulting in another two or three hours of work. Altogether, we were putting in about five hours of work every weekday, both before and after school. This routine instilled in us a strong sense of responsibility and honed our time management skills.

However, there was a period when I was slightly relieved of these duties. This was when I was preparing for my Royal Conservatory exams, a demanding process. During this time, Jody and Jarid would cover for me in the mornings. Instead of doing chores, I would spend an hour and a half at the piano, practicing, while they took care of the chores. This arrangement lasted for a few months during my conservatory training.

But once that was over, it was back to the barn for me. Our lives revolved around work, hockey, and rock and roll. I started songwriting around the age of 16, when Dad bought me my first guitar. It was a Fender Squire starter pack with a small amp. I was completely devoted to it from day one, immediately immersing myself in writing songs."

24 years on from that memory, Blake reflects on his father’s passing.

"My father's accident occurred when he was picking choke cherries, or maybe saskatoons, alone in the bush. He fell and became wedged between some trees, spending the entire night out there. It was July, yet surprisingly cold enough to cause hypothermia. This led to sepsis, and ultimately, he passed away during the process. We were at his bedside when it happened.

Deciding to take him off life support was an emotionally challenging decision I had to lead in my family. It was the most humane choice, considering the alternative outcomes. The process of them unhooking everything was traumatic in its own right.

During his final hours, he experienced what’s called holotropic breathing – deep inhales and exhales, like a metronome. This started around 5 PM on July 7th and continued for 12 hours. In a holotropic breathing session, a healthy person would become lightheaded quickly, but my father maintained this state for an extended period.

Around 2 AM, with my mother, my two sisters, and me present, we witnessed something extraordinary. A small black dot appeared above my father's body, expanding into a bright, welder's-arc-like light that filled the room. It then collapsed back into a point. It was unlike anything we'd ever seen – not lightning, fire, or electricity. When I called out to my father, the phenomenon repeated, with the light stretching across the room before retracting.

Shortly after, a ball of light appeared outside the hospital window, moving further away each time it reappeared, eventually leading to a lightning storm on the horizon. These experiences were bewildering, leaving us with more questions than answers.

These events challenged my faith. Raised in the church, I had been taught a certain concept of heaven, but in that moment, the idea felt too simplistic. I've always been a seeker, trying to understand the truth of our reality through various spiritual teachings. However, I've come to realize that seeking answers can sometimes distract from our true purpose on this plane – to create meaningful moments, build strong relationships, and contribute through our work.

Over 700 people attended my father's funeral. I miss him every day and hope the profound love I feel for him, which often moves me to tears, never fades. It's a beautiful aspect of grieving, this unique expression of love that arises in such circumstances."

Blake shares his thoughts on the importance of the matriarchy in the Berglund family as he performs "Farming Wives", a song from his new album "What's Left of the Right" ...

You can hear all of my conversation with Blake at growingthefuturepodcast.ca, or anywhere you listen to podcasts.