moving forward in a circle

Posted on May 17, 2013 by growingwildfarm

We are one week away from the start of our summer farmer’s market season. We have been so steadily putting one foot in front of the other this spring, getting ready for this stretch of the year, these next 20-30 weeks or so, our “main” season here on the farm, and now that it is just one week away, of course, we are feeling not steady at all but instead just rushed, rushed, rushed. Those gooseberries I wrote about that never got weeded are nearly giving me nightmares, they have all but disappeared underneath the bindweed. And the strawberry patches we hope to be harvesting from in the next few weeks are playing hide and seek in some knee high grass.

Oh, the adventures of it all!

We are fairly used to this routine by now, seven years in, but that doesn’t mean we can always control our feelings of ineptitude when we encounter, even repeatedly, the sheer force of the wild world. With a leftover sore throat caught from the children, today I feel it overtime. Today, I dream about the many hired hands we could use if only we could afford to hire them. I dream of a week straight of childcare so that I can get ahead. I dream of the sleepy feel of winter.

So silly!

Life on the farm truly is about routines and cycles, and as such is fairly predictable, at least in general, even if it is not in the particular. Those things change every season, and are always a mystery we have to watch unfold as we go. But the cycle remains the same.

Every year, at least once at this time of year, we will feel overwhelmed. Some years it is the weather, the waiting for the land to dry. Some years, it is the planting and keeping things going in the ground on schedule. Some years it is the money and do we have enough right now when we spend it the most.

And this year, I swear, it is the weeds.

I walk the farm with the babe of a boy on my hip and worry about getting some air to our perennial fruits. And I can’t seem to catch up. And everywhere I look I see another thistle or burdock or hemlock plant that needs to be knocked down before it blooms. I sigh and let the one rainy day in this month, today, comfort me with rest while I make the lists that will keep us moving forward.

Then, tomorrow, I will set out again, one step at a time, moving towards this unattainable goal of getting to all those weeds. With or without reaching it, just like every year, I know that soon the summer will fully set in and we will be back in the swing of it all. We always “catch up” eventually. We always move from this kind of busy to the harvesting kind of busy, all fun and full, hearts raised and beating hard, out in the sun while it lasts.

The farm is always moving, both in a forward-upward motion, as well as in a circle. Kind of like life. The path it takes always leads somewhere good, even though it is not always right on target or 100% predictable. We start a farming season in all possibility, all hope. Then, inevitably, we get a bit waylaid for a while in the weeds, until we emerge and find that once again, everything is again. Even more than okay. We find that just like every year, it is bursting in greatness. We find ourselves swimming in the river on hot summer afternoons, staying up late not just working but playing by the bonfire, wishing on twinkling stars. We find ourselves blissfully breathing easy again, while the land provides, ever abundantly.

I could almost say that it happens with or without us, and that would almost be true. The earth provides. It cycles, on and on, ever and always. But we did, and do, a lot in order to receive this fecundity year after year. This, we must always remember, no matter what kind of spring craze we are feeling.

This, we must remember, no matter if we feel a bit like we are still at the bottom of the staircase of the year. Because all of us, most likely, have been doing the work we need to do, moving forward on the journey, even when we are at that point when we can’t exactly see it. Perhaps a few steps more forward, even with a blindfold on, will lead us up and into the light.

on mother love, on mother’s day

Posted on May 12, 2013 by growingwildfarm

It is Mother’s Day. The farmer left early to sell his wood craft in the city. I was out of coffee filters and almost out of almond milk, so I had a barely passable cup of coffee to start the day. I made breakfast, the same breakfast we have nearly every day, eggs. I did add some well cooked sweet onion and spinach from the garden to the mix because I do love greens with my eggs, but we didn’t get dressed right away. And because three of the children still have a lingering cough, we decided we should stay home today instead of doing anything special. We may try to plant flowers.

I did want to do some writing, so I put on a movie right after breakfast. My oldest son bought his very first electronic device and is now happily throwing fruit at things with it. There is, ironically, in writing this today, an idea that all of this is somehow less than perfect. But I don’t think so.

I am perfectly in love with these children and being their mother. And as with all things in this life, including motherhood, I keep finding that the great and wonderful things are usually found even more so compared against their flaws. That the silver lining shines brightest next to a puncture wound, a rusty hole. Perspective is the thing.

Leading up to today, I saw many things written in a similar vein to the start of my own Mother’s day post–a kind of this is what it really looks and feels like to be a mother onslaught. And I get it, I really do. I have been thinking a lot about this heavy, hard work of being a mom, and the truth is, it is rarely easy and never picture perfect.

And yet, I can not find a bad thing to say about it. I honestly love being a mother. As often as I am at my wits end and ready to pull out all my hair–still, I love it. And even in those moments, if I can only just breathe for a second, I can find in my children’s eyes the reason for it all. It is easy, if I try, to remember what is, to me, the hallmark of feeling and being a mother–the endless and boundless and unimaginably deep love we carry in our hearts for these small humans.

All mother’s feel this, it is hard wired into us, but it isn’t always easy to stay with that feeling. We are human, too, after all. I made it easy on myself when I entered this job the first time around and just did nothing else at all for the first many years of my mothering journey. Looking back, I am sure that this is what made my time with a precocious and needy and busy first born baby boy so easy. I gave him my all, and we didn’t expand too often outside our own insular little lives back then in Nebraska, so there were rarely any squabbles, rarely any hard times. In fact, I remember so completely the first time we ever had to come to terms with feeling upset with each other. He was nearly three and I was nearly ready to birth his baby brother. It was a hard moment for me, I was a little heartbroken. I hadn’t imagined mothering would ever be hard.

But of course, many more such times have followed since. Now that we are a family of four kids and two businesses, not to mention my own mid-life need to resume some activity related to those non-mothering dreams I once had, there are many squabbles, and many hard moments, and ever so much give and take. I was definitely living in a kind of fantasy land back then, thankfully so. However, I’ve found that for all the perfectness I felt in my first three years of parenting, I have eaten crow for it all a million times over as we travel further and further down the road of time together.

But that is okay, because this is essentially the most important thing that has come to my mind as this Mother’s Day approached, the knowing that this road passes by faster and faster each year. That those tiny feet grow into big ones and we don’t even remember the sleepless nights or the spit up and messy floors. Believe me, we don’t. I long to remember, really, because that would mean I could also recall the smell of the newborn better, and the way it felt to hold them in my arms when they were so little. All of the things they said and did as they made there way out of babyhood and into toddlerhood, and then childhood and beyond. Sigh.

Instead of being able to remember it all, we learn. We learn that we do indeed continue to change and grow and evolve along the way, as well as devolve a little too. We learn that we can not foresee the future, nor make any real claims about whether we did a good job or not. We learn, hopefully, that we will all do amazingly well and that we will all fail miserably, that to say otherwise is the real fault. And we learn, ever so humbly, that they will be there own people and that they really will be okay.

We learn that even though it is really so hard, that doesn’t mean that some of us can’t always say good things about this work, because for some of us, that is our nature. Others, blessedly, can make us laugh about the insanity of it all–to wear your heart outside yourself so that it can constantly take a beating seems outrageous and ludicrous on the face of it.

But that is what mothers do. And really, despite the holiday and the really wonderful way in which we kind of deservedly get our kudos on this day, this work, this loving, is for the most part, and for so long, done entirely thanklessly. If we are doing a good job of it, we only get thanks in the form of sticky kisses and hugs. Or from taking in the tiring but intense need those small hands have to hold ours while it lasts. From being the one they come to at their worst. We are meant to be taken for granted, to always be there for them, to not be thanked until they have done their growing and are happy and healthy young adults who look back in wonder at this magnificent, unending love they were given.

I don’t really remember getting all of this when I was young like my children are, but at some point, despite the many, many failings of my own parents and the fate of illness that left my own mother bound to a nursing home when I was just entering my teen years, I came away from it all seeing that both of them did have this same fierce love for me. And that has been enough. That has held me despite it all.

So, mother’s, today, hold onto this love and take respite in knowing it is enough. Above all, let it guide you, day in and day out. It is hard to do, but it is your gift to your children and to the world. As another wise mother puts it so perfectly, “Spirituality doesn’t look like sitting down and meditating. Spirituality looks like folding the towels in a sweet way and talking kindly to the people in the family even though you’ve had a long day. “ Silvia Boorstein, from On Being.

Your Mother’s Day will probably look a lot like mine. Even if you have others around you and you do get to go out to dinner or have a bit more of some things special, you will, all day like every day, be doing your highest work as well. You will be mothering. It never ends, never goes away.

And even if you are tired or cranky or sick of it all for the moment, you can, perhaps, still just fold the towel sweetly, with a nod to that special love in your heart, and they will feel it. It will hold them through all the things near and far. Your love will hold them, always.

Happy Mother’s Day.

this rewarding life

Posted on May 7, 2013 by growingwildfarm

The smell of tomato as we began to plant this year’s crop was strong, reminding me of that one and only singular taste of summer to come. Salivating, taking in the sun and the beauty of this after dinner hour, it was a very easy job to get started on. My oldest son was helping–some–but more than physical help, he was definitely good company. It was all bliss and joy for a while.

But because it is good to be honest and because it is the truth, 300 plants in and only a third of the way done, in need of water and upset with myself for not being able to plant in a straight line without a string (which I did not bring down to the field with me), I was exasperated, despite all the lovely around me.

So, I stopped for the night and just let the sunset wash away the day as it so brilliantly does, knowing that piece by piece is how any good job gets done anyways. We would start again tomorrow.

Which we didn’t. That tomorrow was yesterday and early on in the day found me injured beyond simple repair. A funky back tweak and I was laying in bed for most of the day.

Tonight, the farmer is in town at a banquet being held to recognize distinguished community members, of which, he was named outstanding young farmer. We were named together, but really, he is the farmer and I am merely the paid help and fancy PR rep. And even though we are both a bit cynical at times and feel neither young any more, nor all that outstanding as farmers (aside from the fact that we are still here and haven’t (and won’t) give up despite all the challenges), we were deeply thankful for such an honor.

And, I was really looking forward to a night of recognizing the many other wonderful folks in our community, growing and strengthening connections new and old and all that, in addition to receiving our own accolades.

But instead, I am home still dealing with this intense back pain/injury that I shouldn’t even have, hobbling around the house not planting the rest of the tomatoes, or attending this lovely banquet. And two kids have sore throats, coughs, and mild fevers. What!!

The timing kind of surprises me. I tend to expect the best, and things tend to work out favorably for us–knock on wood–but whatever, right?

The thing about life is that we don’t get anywhere overnight. Or in one night. The tomato planting is a big one, the road to our farming award seven years long, and I am trying to do it all for the farmer while he keeps up with two businesses through the busy planting season for the first time ever. Slow and steady and all that good stuff really does apply.

And, this man, who has been amazing, doing practically all the farming for most of our seven years out here, really is the one who deserves to be out tonight, getting some attention. Because the truth is that he could really care less, in the very best possible sense of this expression. He does little in his life for acknowledgement from the outside world, a trait I truly admire in him. So, in my book, he doubly deserves this.

Meanwhile, the other night as my son and I sat by those trays of un-planted tomatoes and watched the sun set–and the sunsets on our farm are truly breathtaking–I didn’t think for a second I wouldn’t be out there finishing the job the next day, but that is how it ended up. Another lesson in letting go, I suppose. They are all around me.

But even sore to the bone and so very ready to feel better, we get to do the same thing again tonight. Being here, witness to such beauty every night is its own reward too. And such rewards can go a long way to keep us up and at them when we might rather crawl into bed. My goal is to finish that planting job sometime this week. My back should play along (with the help of some acupuncture I hope!).

And my sweet husband, who works as hard as all the other outstandingly hard working farmers out there, can work just as hard but without too much worry about not getting it all done, because we now know that if we just take each day (and setting sun) as it comes, piece by piece, it all adds up to a lifetime of accomplishment. Learning that lesson is perhaps one of the best rewards of these last long, hard, wonderful years.

Because life will be full of rewards, some big, some small, but not always in the way we imagined. And the most important thing to hold onto is that life itself is really the biggest one of them all. But we have to show up every day to really get that. And sometimes for years on end, we might need to just keep at that one thing, over and over again, showing up. Simply paying attention and working hard and loving life for the glory of nothing at all.

Perhaps, for nothing at all, but the mere but spectacular glory of one more day to watch the sun explode in color as it nestles into the hills of the horizon.

letting go

Posted on April 30, 2013 by growingwildfarm

In spring, and really all year and every day, the to do list for the farm is hefty and long. And the reality is, of course, that life’s to do lists don’t ever come to an end, so part of coming to peace with things both here on the farm and in life is realizing that it is the work that is the thing more than an outcome or ending is.

Still, in spring, time sensitive matters arise in farming and it is easy to feel, more than at other times, that dreadful feeling of not having enough time to get them all done when they need to be done. Fortunately, this spring we have been blessed with unseasonably dry and warm weather, giving us plenty of time for tasks we often find ourselves waiting and waiting to do just in time, or often late, because of the endless spring rain. Most mornings this year when we sit down to decide what needs to be tended to for the day, we find we are usually able to take a deep relaxing breath, a sigh of relief, knowing that for this day on the calender we are right where we should be. But there is always something to do, and as the days continue to propel us forward, we have to expand our frame of reference to not just soil prep and planting but to weeding and watering too. Staying on top of things is always the goal.

And that is why it can be frustrating to go out to the field with two small helpers at my side and a grand plan to weed the gooseberries, and then in the end only manage to get one bush down the row before there are tears and cries for mama and I feel the inevitable split between duties, one of course calling me more. If there is no redirection to be found, I must stop what I am doing and come.

And even though a part of my mind wonders and worries at that moment how I will ever manage my share of the farm work when things like this happen, I always aim to just let it go. Sometimes, the need is for nothing, really, except that I am not giving my attention to something else.

What do they want to do? Pick flowers, be held.

And so we do this. We look and listen at the apple blossoms, full of flowers and bees. The smell is so heady and the sun is on my face, a warm boy’s skin next to mine, soft only like it is when they are small and nursing. And all the while–singing, laughing, talking, skipping and dancing around–my only daughter makes us bouquets. It is like heaven.

Any seasoned parent will tell you this, and it is really quite trite but like other ideas of its kind, it is equally true~slow down, pay attention. They are only little once, they grow up so fast. This same advice applies to life too. Wake up, smell the apple blossoms. Because you see, they are already, less than a week later, spent and on their way to fruit.

It is hard to balance the pull towards productivity with the peace of mindfully doing nothing. In that moment, in the field, I really wanted to finish a task on my to do list. The perennial fruits are the worst for weeds and it is one of those things so much the worse if we don’t get to it before it is bad (and it is already bad, I didn’t want it to get worse).

But of course, the trade off was equally important to experience, just as it was more important for me to do. Pausing, giving my children what they needed, lovingly letting go of that feeling of rushing worry–even letting go of the rewarding feeling of finishing an important task–wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.

Later that night, quickly and peacefully after dinner and before bed, in the perfect light of a fading spring day, the baby and I managed to transplant two rows for the farmer. A small task, so easy. But manageable. I never wanted more than to be a mother for so long, I was so fully immersed in the work of it, joyfully, and I didn’t ever worry, for so long, about getting much else done. Those first three children came in a span of five years. It was busy and full of them. I suppose that helped.

But now I am learning the art of working with my children, and letting go is probably the most important tool I have for that. I like to really finish the work at hand, whether it is weeding through an entire row, cleaning an entire room or finishing all the dishes, or writing until I get it all down or a natural break comes up. That is not how it goes, though, with children around, and learning to stop mid task and just be there for my children is something I have to do over and over again. It is good practice for living life mindfully. It is good to do always. I am glad they are here to teach me this simple but hard truth.

And in the end, having these beautiful reminders of this lesson scattered all through my house, isn’t too bad, either.

little tree climber

Image

Families are almost as unique as fingerprints. You may remember that strange feeling you had as a child when you entered the realm of another family. How you would notice all those little things that were different from your own tribe’s habits; the way the eggs were cooked, the way the towels were folded. As we get older, we see more of the similarities between us and others, I think. Those small things become such a part of us we no longer notice them. It is our children, now, who take them in, for better or worse, as we become our own strange, one of a kind families ourselves.

I am thinking about this because over here, our smallest child climbed his first tree a few weeks ago. He was so proud, it was so darling.

And it struck me in that moment that this was kind of like a right of passage in our household. Although I am the odd man out in this regard, the rest of my children, from the beginning, like their father before them, aimed to find themselves up in those treetops as early and as often as possible.

For some parents, this would be nerve-racking. But for us, it has come naturally. As this little guy grows into himself, as well as into this family, I can’t help but notice those things that remain steady and constant for us, from the first through the last. We, the parents, have grown tremendously in these last twelve years of parenting, but I am surprised to see that the core of our family has remained much the same. It makes raising this fourth child kind of a breeze.

It also makes for a solid foundation. The farmer and I didn’t talk about a lot of things when we threw caution to the wind and fell head over heals for each other nearly upon first sight. We were ready to start a life and family together almost from the beginning. Things like career plans, financial goals, lingering hurts and fears from our own childhood’s, and so on–that seemed trivial to us. What we did talk about was how we would raise our family, and how that would be the most important thing we would do. In the end, that has made things easy in a way that I think can be hard in relationships and in parenting. We knew what to do and how to remember what to value even when those other things made life hard.

Love is a word that can mean so little when we say things like it is all that you need, because those other things are important and real and we have to deal with them in this life to really fulfill our destiny. But, it is also a word that can mean everything, that can really be the basis for how you make the other things work in your life so that you always have strength and a solid place to help you weather through life’s ups and downs.

It is our foundation out here, and so far, I think that it is a wonderful, expected truth my children are experiencing. We certainly have our own weirdnessess, things that my kids will probably wear next to their skin for the rest of their lives because they are a part of this family. But those are the kinds of things that enliven the world anyways. Loving your own idiosyncrasies and loving others are the two sides of the human coin.

So, my little tree climber, I can only say to you, welcome to the fold, sweet one. We are so happy to be your family.

GrowingWildFarm

a naturally growing family farm