Faith

The farm just needed me to step away from it for a few days. My fears and disappointment were stifling. I had fretted over the monsoon rain that flooded the fields two weeks in a row, crescendoing in a nearly five-inch rain event. I feared the worst and put my faith in the fear, doubting the rebound and even the survival of our field plantings. On the other hand, Rich, although regretting the loss of a fraction of our potatoes planted in the lower field and our swiss chard, entrusted the rest of the field with his confidence that they would carry on. He reassured me, and yet I worried and forecasted smaller harvests.

Is it possible with such fear that you can manifest a poor outcome, or that my pessimistic persistance could oppress the plants, like a blanket over the sun? Like a parent who doesn't truly believe in their child's ability to survive in the world and inadvertently instills insecurity in that fledgling? Negative energy lies like a weight on those it touches, it inhibits growth because it refuses light.

And so last weekend after the farmers market rush, I took our kids to Michigan's thumb for our annual weekend at the lake. I stepped away, far away to what always feels like a refuge at the edge of the world, where you stare deep into the dark blue expanse of one of the great(est) lakes, Huron. All the while Rich, our diehard, tended the farm with the company of our beaglettes: Peg and Roux. The kids drew me into the lake, not quite warm enough yet to draw the bigger crowds you'll see in a few weeks time. We played in the shallows of the same water I grew up in in the summertime. Just as I had done with my sisters, I watched the kids become immune to chilly Huron and almost immediately conditioned to it. For there is a spell you fall under when you enter the lake and must savor it until your mom calls you out for lunch.

The lake seemingly washed my worries away into its depths. I felt nearly comatose as I dried out on the beach and the kids continued in their fantastical fashion to play together. The rest of the weekend, my body felt so relaxed that I nearly nodded off whenever I was sitting down under the sun to read. I had let my guard down and reinstated a sense of peace. And so we made the most of our weekend, the most time that an incomplete farm family can muster during the high season, while our missing pieces were feeding the beast back home.

We made our way down 75 when the rains came for the lake and it was time to go. And after the long haul back home, we drove down the long gravel drive, the broccoli and kale field to our left, winter squash and lettuces to our right, growing gangbusters. Thriving. The perennial cover that grows around our plantings was lush and alive with pollinators and red winged black birds. The dogs greeted us and ushered the car to the house. We spilled out into our jungle of a farm: humid air and the smell of green. The trees just absolutely buzzed with photosynthetic energy in the yard. May ran to the field and brought back handfuls of golden and red raspberries: a bounty. I walked around the barn to see our big field and couldn't believe how much the farm, unrestrained by my bad juju, had absolutely burgeoned with the approach of the solstice.

My nasturtium planting had bloomed in our absence: a dazzling sea of yellows, oranges, and scarlet too. The tomatoes were officially taller than May and ready to be trellised again. Tomatoes will be a week early this year in fact. The carrots we spent a week weeding had formed their frilly canopy and were off to the races. We reunited with Rich as if we had been gone for a month. He told me that we needed to stock more broccoli in our online store because more pulled through than he realized after the big rain. He also reported that all of the replacement beets were germinating while those we thought were goners had turned around. We should have beets galore this summer.

Yes, distance makes the heart grow fonder. But it also right-sized my perception and encouraged me to let go and move forward. Maybe the farm breathed in the fresh air, unimpeded by my negativity and grew the better for it over those three days. And yet again, the land demonstrated resilience and proved itself as a mooring, so that we don't drift away. In a world characterized by its challenges, faith and endurance impel you forward: evidenced by Rich and the farm. Unbridled fear is crippling, hindering the impulses of all living things: to grow and to thrive, not to be stationary and paralyzed. And so, I take a note from Rich's steadfastness and learn yet another lesson from the farm, so that their examples may rub off on me.

Thank you for reading :)

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