The Hope of New Life
There’s a lot that I like about local farming. The solitude, the physical labor, the planning, and the compressed cycles of life moving from season to season. There’s a bittersweetness at the finish line of any given season. You’ve made it through but there’s no time to sit on your duff because you’ve got to start preparing for the season that’s steadily moving toward you day by day.
This is a fun time. Mixing soil, seeding in the hoop house, and watching the seedlings emerge with new life, sprouting, ready to take the place of last season’s friends out in field that have now moved underground to feed the next generation. To live seasonally in this way, with the ebb and flow of life cycles and
to understand that the end of a season will soon be broken through by the next, bringing with it the promise of new crops is perhaps my favorite. There’s a rhythm to it. Slow but steady.
It’s the hope of that next season that sustains me. It’s that hope that drives me back out to those fields where I experienced more failure than I wanted and and more success than I deserved, and to try it again, season after season.