Nourishing Bites | On the Cusp
Rudi Radishes | A classic variety known for bolt-resistance amid hot weather and fluctuating temperatures.
Cusp:
A medieval architectural term to describe the pointed end where two curves meet.
Or rather from this farmer’s perspective:
The arc of what has been meeting the arc of what is yet to be.
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The curve of spring now is meeting the curve of summer, and Brad and I run a marathon a day-- working furiously to keep pace.
All this new life is bursting forth and yet right now we are sowing winter squash and broccoli and collard greens for the coming winter. How can fall be so close already?
Just a few days pass and it already feels as if it was miles ago. So many tasks, small and large are tucked into every corner, nook and cranny of each day. There is no dawdling- but my secret strategy is that when it all seems a bit much, I give myself the pleasure of the thought of an uninterrupted winter nap. That too, will have its own season, made incredibly sweeter by this work that I am undertaking now.
Dancing complicated jigs, juggling spinning plates, setting one thing, then another, and another, and another in motion...there are many metaphors for the work of a farmer. But none that can fully describe the delight and tenacity, the reservoir of trust and hope that must be firmly in place to farm and to keep farming.
Each year I plan and plan and plan. Each year I plant and plant and plant. Each year I kneel and bend and gather and coax and tend and wash and nurture and problem solve. Each year things break, fall apart, and with patience and pluck, come together again. Each year I weed out negativity, despair, discouragement- there is little time to be wasted on anything that will create another setback or barrier, anything that will add more weight to my already heavy boots, anything that will surely draw down the precious reserve of inspiration and motivation required to live and work here on the cusp.
Each year I give. And I give thanks, give thanks, give thanks.
That is my recipe for farming.
***
The workload heading into summer solstice at the farm is like drinking out of a fire hose. But at this point, I’m utterly grateful the water is clean and cold and available. In the fields, in the packing shed, in the barns, in the house- each day, every day- I give thanks for the gift of water. I think of how impossible it would be to sustain my work without water. Every time I turn on the irrigation, water seedlings, give a drink to the bay tree, I say thank you.
In a similar fashion, I say thank you quietly, again and again, for the flourishing of community that continues to make this farm hum with good works and possibility.
Our Farm to Heart CSA kicked off last week.
I first wrote of this plan in the fall of 2019 as a deep desire to expand our circle of caring, and the seed of that intentional planting is now growing into a stocky young sapling that I am in awe of. To all of you who have contributed, and to those who to my utter surprise expressed a deep sense of gratitude for the opportunity to do so- I bend my head to my heart in sincere thanks. We are showing up and we doing the hard work of building community.
To all those new to our circle of caring, I open my arms in a gracious welcome!
Our Farm to Heart now has an online home and a heart (logo) you can visit right here.
***
Cusp:
The arc of what has been meeting the arc of what is yet to be.
***
In mid-May I stood in the field, hot and tired, the wind boxing my ears. I turned south away from the wind and took a deep breath, surveying the stretch of field just mown and planned to hold the fall cabbages that have just been sown. The edge of the field is now decorated by phacelia blooms erupting in powder blue frills. Across the main aisle, the weld is flowering profusely and covered in hungry honeybees, working as ardently as we are. Beyond, to the west, is a section of field that has been sown to cover crops to feed the soil. The crimson clover within has bloomed and the oats are heading up. Nearby the young onion sets are just finding their footing in the ground.
And then just yesterday, I spotted two slender summer squash. I noticed the white flowering blooms on the pole bean vines that signify two weeks until beans emerge. The potatoes have broken through the soil to spread their dark thick stems and leaves skyward. Tomato plants are waist high and growing fast. Cabbages and radishes and kohlrabi are round and crisp and crack open at the slightest jostling. Spring broccoli heads are growing so fast the small buds we saw on Sunday will be harvested on Friday.
From mid-May to yesterday to every day at the farm I can sense how much is emerging. The fields and high tunnel are plentiful with leaves and roots and shoots and vibrancy ready to nourish and inspire us humans. I can feel too, how we are on the cusp of widening and deepening collaborations, like our Farm to Heart work that I am so proud of.
In natural systems, an ecotone is the region of transition from two biologically distinct communities.
I see this farm- this place of arcs meeting, of living systems constantly on the cusp of transformation, of people and ideas and passions and care connecting- as a community ecotone.
This journey of ours is just beginning to leaf out and grow. We are in a constant state of transition, even in the moments we feel stagnant. Our collective history is here before us; it is up to us to see it clearly and craft the coming curves with care. From one arc to the next, these points of inflection must be rooted in reflection. For our work for and with each other is to see what is, to accept the gifts of change, and to work and walk forward— together.
As I work long hours to water and nuture and hold and shelter and harvest and nourish, I keep grounded in the abundance surrounding me. I remember my place in this living system. I visualize my work as an upward and outward expanding spiral. I pass cyclically through the same places each season, but the work is not the same, the experiences I have are not the same, I am not the same. I keep traveling and learning and living on the precious cusp of what is yet to be.
CSA Love | A hand made card Brad and I received from one of our families.