Fertile Ground USA...Celebrating the people behind the plow

 by Sara B. Franklin

October 29
            Today I biked through the first snow flurries of the year.  Those tiny, elegant white flakes were well-timed, as my farming season came to a close just a few days ago.  The fields are hardening up in the chilly, gray weather, cover crops have been sowed, and we harvested the last of our delicate lettuce heads.

            As I stood on the steps of the (now finished) CSA shed on my last afternoon of work, I couldn’t help remembering how the land had looked a short seven months earlier.  The driveway was pocked with deep, muddy puddles; the goat barn and CSA shed were mere shells, and the fields were still green with the previous fall’s cover crops.  Town Farm was still just a plot of land, yet to be tested for its potential. My god, how far we’ve come. 

            It’s a bittersweet day when the season comes to a close.  During my last week, I found myself gazing at the wide-open sky, enjoying the cold air on the tip of my nose, the snap of the frost-sweetened kale leaves from their stems.  Now my days are mostly spent inside, catching up on the sleep and reading that’s been taking a back seat all season long, making time for indulgences like long stints of writing and slow, meandering walks with my dog in the woods. 

            To be certain, I’m glad to have a bit more time on my hands. But I already miss the rhythm of the work, the sense of being physically spent at the end of a long day, the hours spent in synch with the winds, the clouds, the sun, and the rain.

            Would I do it again? Absolutely. This season, like the season before, came with its challenges. I’m satisfied to know I’ve done my job well, and now I’m ready for some R&R.  The more I talk to people who don’t work with the cycle of the seasons, the more I realize how grateful I am for the opportunity to farm. I start, full of excitement and replenished energy stores in the spring, and then work as hard as my body can handle during the height of the season, slowly ebbing to a gentler pace in the fall. And then winter, a time to rest, a time to reflect, a time to prepare. “To everything, turn turn turn, there is a season turn turn turn, and a time to every purpose under heaven.”  Without the work of the season, I don’t know that I would ever appreciate the luxury of a restful, quiet season.   And without the semi-hibernation of the winter, would I ever have the energy to start a new season come spring? Doubtful.

            Now comes the next challenge. As a young farmer, hungry to meet new people and visit new places, I’ll be moving at the turn of the calendar year.  To where, I can’t yet say. I have dreams of returning to South Africa, where I spent time during college, to work with some young farmers who are trying to reinvigorate native youth’s involvement in local agriculture.  Perhaps I’ll be in Europe, learning the stubbornly-traditional ways of farmers in France, Croatia, and Greece.  And maybe I’ll be here in the States, on either coast (or somewhere in the middle). One of the perks of being a young farmer without ties to a parcel of land is the annual chance to start anew.  For sure, the search is trying, especially at a time when the whole country seems to be strapped for cash. But with a field full of fresh food at my fingertips, I don’t need much to live on, and so the world, with all its possibilities, lies at my feet.

            Perhaps I’ll tune in with developments over the winter. Perhaps I’ll be so dormant that these postings will stop until next season begins.  Either way, thank you for reading and taking an interest. Young farmers are everywhere, and are growing in number by the day. We all appreciate your ever-growing awareness of the importance of sustainable agriculture and appreciation for locally-produced, fresh foods. And with that, I put the 2008 growing season to bed.



 

            Today I biked through the first snow flurries of the year.  Those tiny, elegant white flakes were well-timed, as my farming season came to a close just a few days ago.  The fields are hardening up in the chilly, gray weather, cover crops have been sowed, and we harvested the last of our delicate lettuce heads.

            As I stood on the steps of the (now finished) CSA shed on my last afternoon of work, I couldn’t help remembering how the land had looked a short seven months earlier.  The driveway was pocked with deep, muddy puddles; the goat barn and CSA shed were mere shells, and the fields were still green with the previous fall’s cover crops.  Town Farm was still just a plot of land, yet to be tested for its potential. My god, how far we’ve come. 

            It’s a bittersweet day when the season comes to a close.  During my last week, I found myself gazing at the wide-open sky, enjoying the cold air on the tip of my nose, the snap of the frost-sweetened kale leaves from their stems.  Now my days are mostly spent inside, catching up on the sleep and reading that’s been taking a back seat all season long, making time for indulgences like long stints of writing and slow, meandering walks with my dog in the woods. 

            To be certain, I’m glad to have a bit more time on my hands. But I already miss the rhythm of the work, the sense of being physically spent at the end of a long day, the hours spent in synch with the winds, the clouds, the sun, and the rain.

            Would I do it again? Absolutely. This season, like the season before, came with its challenges. I’m satisfied to know I’ve done my job well, and now I’m ready for some R&R.  The more I talk to people who don’t work with the cycle of the seasons, the more I realize how grateful I am for the opportunity to farm. I start, full of excitement and replenished energy stores in the spring, and then work as hard as my body can handle during the height of the season, slowly ebbing to a gentler pace in the fall. And then winter, a time to rest, a time to reflect, a time to prepare. “To everything, turn turn turn, there is a season turn turn turn, and a time to every purpose under heaven.”  Without the work of the season, I don’t know that I would ever appreciate the luxury of a restful, quiet season.   And without the semi-hibernation of the winter, would I ever have the energy to start a new season come spring? Doubtful.

            Now comes the next challenge. As a young farmer, hungry to meet new people and visit new places, I’ll be moving at the turn of the calendar year.  To where, I can’t yet say. I have dreams of returning to South Africa, where I spent time during college, to work with some young farmers who are trying to reinvigorate native youth’s involvement in local agriculture.  Perhaps I’ll be in Europe, learning the stubbornly-traditional ways of farmers in France, Croatia, and Greece.  And maybe I’ll be here in the States, on either coast (or somewhere in the middle). One of the perks of being a young farmer without ties to a parcel of land is the annual chance to start anew.  For sure, the search is trying, especially at a time when the whole country seems to be strapped for cash. But with a field full of fresh food at my fingertips, I don’t need much to live on, and so the world, with all its possibilities, lies at my feet.

            Perhaps I’ll tune in with developments over the winter. Perhaps I’ll be so dormant that these postings will stop until next season begins.  Either way, thank you for reading and taking an interest. Young farmers are everywhere, and are growing in number by the day. We all appreciate your ever-growing awareness of the importance of sustainable agriculture and appreciation for locally-produced, fresh foods. And with that, I put the 2008 growing season to bed.

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