I’ve spent most of the summer in the fields. Tending to the produce and flowers we grow in abundance. I’ve spent my mornings in the vibrant world of our flower field, drinking in the color of the bright summer annuals we planted in May. And in the productive world of our produce field, gathering zucchini blossoms and then squash, and now tomatoes and peppers and eggplant, the non-stop world of harvesting that is this moment.
And I’ve been thinking about the beauty of life, how it unfolds, the unexpected places it leads us if we allow it to. And about farming. And the lessons it teaches about the beauty of hard work and the resilience of nature.
There is nothing fancy about farming. It’s totally hands on, dirty work that requires an abundance of skills, some of which come naturally to me and others which don’t.
What comes naturally to me is, perhaps, not what makes for a financially successful farm. A love of the land, working with the team, creating beauty, and the pure joy of sharing what we grow with our community. The financials of farming are elusive in this world of changing weather, invading pests and increasing fuel and labor costs. I know better farmers than me that understand these things. Who are able to predict crop yields, who plant purposefully with profitability in mind, and who focus on efficiency in an effort to squeeze as much as they can out of unbelievably narrow margins.
I might be able to be that farmer.
Still, in this harvest season, as we stand on the edge of the end of the summer, I am so proud of what we grew this season. Beautiful, flavorful, healthy food that has been plated by some of the best chefs in our area, and flowers that have brought joy to many summer tables.
I’m not sad that we are at the edge of summer, moving to the other side of the season and that the fading light and shorter days means a retreat inside to the shelter of home. There is a lot of beauty in this late summer season. The strawflowers which are blooming in abundance, dahlias, the beautiful peppers that are turning from green to sweet red on the vine. And in the fading light of the summer, there is always the promise of a new and better season in which the lessons of this one are applied and the promise of the field is again proven.
Right now, an accumulating pile of books is calling to me. My body and mind need a rest from the daily lifting and hauling that characterize the summer months. The fall, of course, is not quiet. And there is always more to do to plan for a better year next year, order seeds, fix what’s broken and just generally clean up. But these tasks are tactical and carefree unlike the growing season which has a tension all its own, the responsibilities of the plants, the soil and the weather, which is always there and, always, unpredictable.
There’s an ecological concept called “Edge Effect” I discovered recently while trying to come up with a concept for an art exhibition we’ll be hosting at our barns this month. It describes the environment between the cultivated and the wild as the most vibrant in our eco-system. Indeed, on my evening walk through our fields, I witness the most riotous pollinator activity in these places - where the farmed land meets the wild. It’s as if this edge is where the real action is happening. I think that’s a nice metaphor for life, that the richest life doesn’t happen in a linear fashion, inside one habitat, it happens in the riotous collision of where everything and everyone meets.
On our Upstate farm, we are at our own edge, the precipice of change from one season to the next and, in nature the same vibrancy is happening. The dahlias are blooming just before the frost threatens to take them. The peppers are turning from green to red at the very edge of the vine, reaching for the last of the sun.
And I am coming to understand my own edge, the place where the beauty and the vibrancy lies. The place where experience, passion and commitment come together. I’m going to spend this fall trying to stand on that edge, right where the vibrancy is, before the winter chill calls us all inside to the warmth of our fires.
