It is mid-June here on the farm and a brisk 59 degrees with a stiff wind blowing out of the north. The steel-gray rainclouds hang low over the hills, their wispy bottoms brushing the treetops. The fitful rain plunks against my plastic feed bucket as I negotiate the muddy pig paddock, shoving the pushy pigs out of my way.
As the pigs bolt down their food, I stand several feet away and gaze over the garden beds, the red feed bucket dangling from my hand. The chilly weather worries me. Last year, many of our crops rotted in the ground, unable to withstand the wet, raw conditions. Onions will fail to make bulbs when the temperature bounces from warm to cool and back again. Basil growth stagnates in the cooler weather, much preferring the hot, sunny days common in their native Mediterranean region. Despite the temperature, I am grateful for the rain; it's been fairly dry over the past 2 weeks and the young plants need the water. There is something timeless and mystical in the rain. No matter how much I irrigate or hand-water, the plants seem to appreciate the natural showers even more. On our farm, an artificial soaking doesn't amount to much more than life-support.
The early-season crops have been in the ground for almost a month. The first few days after planting consist of faithful watching and lingering evening tours of tiny wee sprouts. We monitor everything closely, looking for signs of disease, predation and failure to thrive. As the days roll by, the plants grow on their own time, despite all our hand-wringing and worry. Still, we fret.
Sometimes I find that Farming isn't just about growing food. It's about patience, perseverance and faith. When I worry about my children or our future, I remember the young shoots in the fields and hear the deeper voice of the Universe reminding me...
"Peace....peace. Have faith. Plant the seed and let go of the control...it will be what it will be."
In this current age of fast cars, texting, global positioning devices and easily available instant gratification, it is hard to remember that some things operate on their own timetable. My crops and livestock don't care about my schedule or my desire to sell them or include them in my recipes. They could care less about my comfort level when its too hot to weed or muck out the pig shed. They stand in their respective fields and dare me to try to force them to grow faster. As frustration boils within me, it begins to reduce itself down to the understanding that this slow, sometimes plodding process is good. It's healthy and natural to wait and watch. It provides a healing balm to the wounds we endure every day in this increasingly accelerating world.
The rain intensifies and my long-sleeved t-shirt becomes damp. Shivering, I turn away from the sodden fields. A gust of wind catches my bucket and bangs it into my leg. I lift the bucket and swing it into the breeze. I hear the voice again.
Peace...peace. Have faith. The seeds have been planted...now let it go.
As the pigs bolt down their food, I stand several feet away and gaze over the garden beds, the red feed bucket dangling from my hand. The chilly weather worries me. Last year, many of our crops rotted in the ground, unable to withstand the wet, raw conditions. Onions will fail to make bulbs when the temperature bounces from warm to cool and back again. Basil growth stagnates in the cooler weather, much preferring the hot, sunny days common in their native Mediterranean region. Despite the temperature, I am grateful for the rain; it's been fairly dry over the past 2 weeks and the young plants need the water. There is something timeless and mystical in the rain. No matter how much I irrigate or hand-water, the plants seem to appreciate the natural showers even more. On our farm, an artificial soaking doesn't amount to much more than life-support.
The early-season crops have been in the ground for almost a month. The first few days after planting consist of faithful watching and lingering evening tours of tiny wee sprouts. We monitor everything closely, looking for signs of disease, predation and failure to thrive. As the days roll by, the plants grow on their own time, despite all our hand-wringing and worry. Still, we fret.
Sometimes I find that Farming isn't just about growing food. It's about patience, perseverance and faith. When I worry about my children or our future, I remember the young shoots in the fields and hear the deeper voice of the Universe reminding me...
"Peace....peace. Have faith. Plant the seed and let go of the control...it will be what it will be."
In this current age of fast cars, texting, global positioning devices and easily available instant gratification, it is hard to remember that some things operate on their own timetable. My crops and livestock don't care about my schedule or my desire to sell them or include them in my recipes. They could care less about my comfort level when its too hot to weed or muck out the pig shed. They stand in their respective fields and dare me to try to force them to grow faster. As frustration boils within me, it begins to reduce itself down to the understanding that this slow, sometimes plodding process is good. It's healthy and natural to wait and watch. It provides a healing balm to the wounds we endure every day in this increasingly accelerating world.
The rain intensifies and my long-sleeved t-shirt becomes damp. Shivering, I turn away from the sodden fields. A gust of wind catches my bucket and bangs it into my leg. I lift the bucket and swing it into the breeze. I hear the voice again.
Peace...peace. Have faith. The seeds have been planted...now let it go.