After a much needed winter’s rest and a very productive spring, Brad and I are more than ready to officially start the harvest season. The mild, warm spring was a boon to our early field work— a farmer’s delight! This latest multi-week bout of rain proved a boon for the weeds and temporarily put a stop to field work. Another lesson in patience, and in honoring the space between what you wish for and what is.

Thanks to the help of close friends and family, in about 10 hours of Sunday’s sunshine we made up for lost time. Also, a big shout out to healthy soil. Thank you earthworms and robust microbial soil life for keeping our land well drained and resilient. The fields dried out quickly enough so that we could transplant salad greens, head lettuces, kohlrabi, chard, tomatillos, tomatoes, and the entire crop of sweet peppers.

And then, just a day later, we found ourselves seeding collard greens and fall cabbage, and preparing to disc the field for winter squash. I know, I know. You probably don’t want to hear one word about fall or winter.

But we started thinking about next winter in the middle of last winter. That’s the nature of our work. In December we put together pieces (lessons) from the previous season, and craft a vision of the year to come.

Now we are deep into the work of making that vision a reality.

I’m continually pressed to remember lessons from the past, in ways that incrementally build on all that’s right before me, in service to a future I deeply want to manifest.

It is this cycle of vision, work, and connecting - or rather, planning, doing, and learning - that has taught me a special kind of way to live fully in the present.

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We have an old hen who is mostly blind. She’s low on the pecking order and so we’ve set her up in a special house so she can always find water in the same spot, knows her favorite roosting spot won’t be taken, and how to find her morning and evening grain every day. Sometimes she shares her house with a new mother and day-old chicks, other times, she’s by herself. It’s quiet and safe, but can be isolating.

So every Monday, we carry her outside and let her spend the day beside us as we go about sowing seeds. I think I gain more from the time with grandma hen then she does with me. She always seems content to be right where she is, and so her quiet presence is a gift. This little act, for some unknown reason, is a small joy that keeps me present to the immediacy of my work.

How we live in the present can enrich our understanding of the past and change how we approach the future. In essence, this is a two hands - one heart dance with Life itself.

We hold the perspective of the past in one hand, the possibilities of the future in the other hand, and the gifts- all those small joys- of the present moment right in the center of our hearts.

Sometimes, it’s not even the work, it’s how we go about the work that matters most, because that’s the work of being present, and presence is the greatest gift we can give to ourselves and to each other.

May your meals be filled with glorious greens and your heart full of the small joys right here at hand, in this very moment. ~AJ