Nourishing Bites | Growing Time Part 2
Part 2 (Read Part 1 and Part 3)
At certain times of year, farming becomes relentless. Just because you’ve updated your task list once, or harvested once, or pruned once, or mowed once, or fed and watered animals once, or twice, or a hundred times? Once does not mean you are done.
You can take the pulse of the situation one day and return to the field just a few hours or days later to find a different state of affairs. (As evidenced by the produce descriptions I do my best to write for each week of our CSA. I may evaluate the kohlrabi in the field on Sunday and write down “small/medium sized.” Then by Friday morning I find myself in the packing shed washing freshly harvested GIANT bulbs. What can one do? Photosynthesis waits for no farmer.)
As much as making a comprehensive list and prioritizing tasks is critical to success, August delivers an undeniable reality. At some point mid-summer there becomes more to do than there are hours available. As my dad is fond of joking when the work piles up, “Well, there are 24 hours in every day… and then there are the nights.”
The first few years as a farmer, August pushed me to the edges mentally and physically.
All the plans and ideas and hope I carried within me coming into the season were overtaken by the surging, complex realities of agricultural life. For every one item I had the foresight to add to my venerable To-Do List, two more seem to appear out of nowhere and send thick, fierce brambles across my once straightforward-seeming path. My really good intentions quickly were overgrown by unplanned situations, my hopeful visions disheveled, and those once crystal clear priorities became oddly hard to keep in sight. Everything that “should just take an hour” usually ended up taking four.
Furthermore, once one thing was done, there was another, and another, and another. Even today, that’s the reality of August on a working farm- the void never goes unfilled, and if I’m not careful, I get weary and worn, discouragement sets in, and frustrations can rise to a flash point.
Fortunately, after twelve farming seasons, I’ve become astute enough to recognize the telling signs of the ‘breaking point’ in the farming calendar.
And that’s when I remind myself that abundance is the best one could hope for. A lifetime of meaningful, valuable, authentic work is the best one could hope for. Endless opportunities to impact the health and well being of this incredible farm ecosystem and improve the resilience of my community is the best one could hope for. This is my saving grace.
No matter how tired I am or how long the to-do list grows, I acknowledge my blessings. Which is one very important reason I make a point to write each week. Writing gives me an opportunity to reflect on whatever I’m facing in a hopeful, helpful way.
As a farmer, I am painfully aware how much more stressful and difficult things would be without crate after crate, bag after bag, flat after flat of gorgeous, nutritious food needing to be tended and harvested and washed and parceled out. Thank goodness, I tell myself, I’m not facing a season of scarcity and of doing things “just once.” Thank goodness I’m surrounded by a caring community. Thank goodness my animals and plants and my farm are healthy and living and growing by leaps and bounds!
When I start to feel the least bit tired, or overwhelmed, or weary, I remind myself to face the truth of this bounty, and for some reason, that helps me dig deep and find my second wind.
I also take comfort in knowing that this breaking point comes every year and every year, I live to tell. My very courageous friend and steward of compassion Sundari once wisely told me the key to restoring one’s equanimity is understanding there are only two paths forward: either you change the stimulus, or you change your response to the stimulus.
When I can’t change the rush of needs descending on me, I change my response. I remind myself that the real goal is not to finish everything on the To-Do List. The ultimate goal is to emerge from these intense experiences with a clearer sense of myself, of my abilities, and of the direction I want my life to move in. How can I more authentically engage with the sheer magnitude of expectations, work, and commitments at my doorstep? Where I’ve fallen short, how can I uncover the underlying root cause? What larger systems are at play and how can I intervene, or more deftly dance with all this abundance? How can I leverage my work for the greatest good?
Again, this is why I wake early, cut my lunch break short and generally do what it takes to make a place for writing in my life.
I am very good at reacting, at fixing and tending and taking action. Writing is a chance for the necessary counterbalance I need: for reflection, for introspection, for making sense of my experiences so I become a stronger, more authentic, more polished (not worn out!) version of myself.
These days, I keep really close tabs on my thoughts.
I don’t spin stories or lament. I do my best, I choose kindness at every bend, I make the most of what time I do have.
Granted, this is hard.
When I look around at everything that is unmowed or needs weeded or repaired or cleaned - on top of everything that needs harvested, washed, packed, trained, pruned, fed, watered, or preserved, - on top of the pile of bookwork required to keep a business running, it feels insurmountable.
So one of my basic rules is: I don’t let myself think about everything I have to do all at once.
It’s not only counter productive but also unnecessarily discouraging.
In all reality, would anyone ever attempt anything difficult if they really knew everything that it entailed? I certainly would never sign up for a life of farming if I had to commit to doing everything on a farmer’s job responsibilities list all at once, so why on earth would I think about everything I have to do all at once?
Doing so is treacherous. It skews the reality of your experience. We humans have this bad habit of living in the past and the future all at once. But the reality is we only need to live a second at a time.
And while this August I will most definitely harvest and weed and prune and mow and water and feed over and over and over again, I will also keep reminding myself over and over, I only get to live this precious summer once. ~AJ
Organic Farming Research Foundation recently launched a toolkit for climate resilience, and April was featured in their short video. Did you know your support of organic farming practices is crucial to mitigating the impacts of climate change? Keep it up and helps us spread the word!
“In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility.”