One Bed at a Time

Growing up, our backyard neighbors had a beautiful garden. They had corn and sunflowers, cucumbers and tomatoes. It was such a special place for all the neighbors to see. As I grew older so too did the neighbors. The woman became sick and no longer gardened. The man stopped soon after. I remember coming home from college and the garden looked so sad and lonely, overgrown and neglected. I told my dad just recently that I wanted to garden in their yard, that I wanted to make that space beautiful again.

Now I am home, waiting for my dad to return home as well. Waiting to have a funeral, waiting for closure. What does one do while they wait?

The other day that man gave me permission to garden in his yard. The first day I walked over with a shovel and a rake. I got in there and started to pull out the dandelions and grass that came up to my knees. I realized this was a big job, maybe an impossible job and I needed a garden fork. So I went to a neighbors and they lent me their fork, giving me their condolences as I walked away.

The second day I kept weeding, and formed a few beds where peas were to go. Another neighbor came out and invited me in for water and a cookie. We chatted, she hugged me, and with her condolences back to the garden I went.

The third day I continued my work. So much work to be done. Three neighbor kids came over with plants and seeds in their arms, things they wanted to see grow in the garden. I told them I'll make space for their things and we could all plant together.

Yesterday I was forming another bed, weeding and shaping the space. Listening to the birds chirping, the leaves crunching. Watching the creepy crawlies in the soil, the worms and ants all doing exactly what they are meant to do. I looked up and was surprised at what I saw. A garden. This was really becoming a garden. Mounded beds for cucumbers. A trellis for the peas. Dill, cilantro, and basil. Onions too. Here I was, weeding and shaping one bed at a time. Not even realizing all my work was creating a garden.

I hear people do crazy things when they lose somebody. That crazy thing for me has been gardening. Gardening a space that I won't even be here to care for and to see grow. Yet here are all the neighbors. Here are all these people excited to see this garden, happy to help where they can. One says he will come out and water it, another says she will guide the cucumbers' vines in the right direction. How beautiful it is to see a community come together and care for one another. How wonderful it is for neighbors to come together and garden.

So here I am waiting. Waiting for so many things. Yet I have to remember, take one day at a time. Take one hour at a time, one weed at a time. And slowly but definitely everything I do will piece together just as it should. How lucky I am to have the time to create such a beautiful space for the neighbors to share. My dad would be so proud.

Precious Moments

There is a lot to be learned from farming, beyond the farming itself. I'm talking about life lessons like patience, resilience, courage, and fostering community.

If you jump the gun and plant too early there is a chance that a frost will still come and the plants won't thrive. Patience is key.

If you plant bed after bed with lettuce and pests keep coming and eating all your crop you keep trying different methods until you find one that works. Resilience.

When something comes up that you have never experienced before you greet the challenge. Courage.

And when the challenge is too tough for one person to handle you ask your neighbors and friends for help and guidance. Community.

Ever since I saw a basil plant go to seed I felt something magical occurring. Here was this leafy, delicate plant about to die. What was it doing? It was bolting - putting up this big shoot, doubling it's size, that many flowers would soon grow from. It didn't just shrivel up and turn brown. It grew and grew. It attracted various pollinators with its many flowers and then it went to seed. The sign of a dying plant is one that is producing it's seed. Getting ready to live on through generations to come.

I'm not quite ready to believe that my dad is really gone, but that time may never come. I feel comforted thinking about the lessons and cycles of farming. That death brings new life. When I think of death as a bolting plant I feel comforted. I feel comforted thinking that my dad went to seed, that death is not final and all the memories that we hold of him will carry him through many more generations. The heartache I feel will not pass soon. Patience, resilience, and courage will get me through. Above all, my sisters, family and friends- my community- will bring comfort and give guidance when I need it most.

Oh how surprising life can be. Each challenge along the way helps create who we are and the life story we leave behind.

I have big plans for my future. I'll be the first to say that the future makes me a little nervous. Unpredictability makes me nervous. Not knowing makes me nervous.

There is something out there that tells a seed when to sprout and a plant when to seed. I find comfort in knowing that some things are simply beyond my control.

I love you forever, Dad.

Blisters & Dirt

I spent hours splitting wood before I finally got the flow down. Swing it back and up, move your hand down the handle and let the force of the maul crack down on the wood. My left hand started to blister so I put on a work glove and continued at it. I looked down later and saw dried blood on my right fingers where the skin must have rubbed right off. It was pretty cold out so I hadn't noticed. I put on another work glove and continued on, determined to split each log on the first blow.

If you looked at my palms you would know that I have been hard at work. Splinters, mending cuts, and blisters neighbor each other while open gaps are quickly filled with dirt. You would see the soil beneath my short nails and the various marks that I have accumulated while I have been here. I am recognizing my body's resilience and appreciating my ability to heal. So often one will become accustomed to putting a band aid on every cut, and washing hands meticulously to stay healthy. I think those habits are completely respectable and at the same time I am finding that my 'rustic' lifestyle is breaking those norms. I accumulate a week's worth of dirt before washing it away, I share silverware and plates to save dishes, I sometimes wash my hands with soap, and I have been switching between two pairs of pants for the last three weeks.

You may think that all of that is gross and that is okay. I may think that you are too clean. What I am getting at is this... I am the healthiest I have been in my entire life. I wake up with good energy, work hard until night, and am ready to repeat the cycle the next day. My appetite is strong, my mind is clear, and I am happy. Each splinter and cut is a lesson learned, mostly to remember when to wear work gloves.  But most of all, every mark that I have earned is a reminder that when your heart is happy hard work does not feel like work at all.