Casey O’Neill is a farmer and owner of Happy Day Farms in Laytonville, Calif. The opinions expressed in this column do not necessarily reflect the views of The Mendocino Voice. If you’d like to write your own column for The Mendocino Voice, send your idea to info@mendovoice.com.
Sunny winter days after the rains are one of the great blessings in life. The landscape has softened, and the chatter of the creeks is an audible delight. There is a lightness to the work, as though permeated by holiday spirit to feel more relaxed and less hectic. There is always plenty to do, but the urgency is removed by the short days and slow growth.
I needed the sun to return, for nothing grows without the caress of warmth. With the dark, wet days of the last few weeks, photosynthesis ground almost to a halt, and I went from having an abundance of harvestable crops to scraping together what I could scavenge to meet our market and CSA commitments. Scarcity in produce is one of the big difficulties in winter, because the variable weather makes it incredibly difficult to plan the timing on harvests.
I love winter farming so much more when the weather is mild than when we’re dealing with big storm fronts pushing through, but I also accept that for summer farming to exist we need the winter weather. I’m grateful for the rain, for not having to irrigate outside the tunnels, for the vibrancy as the fresh green of new growth returns to brighten the brown landscape.
One of the best things about this time of year is hiking the creeks, watching the water bounce and tumble down the slopes and enjoying the peace and presence of life. The grass seeds and burrs of summer are tamped down, rattlesnakes are hibernating, and the ground is soft under our steps as we traverse the steep hills and enjoy the experience of country we don’t often see.
My senses delight in getting outside of the comfort zone of the working farmscape, and I wonder to myself why I don’t make more time for walking the land. I’m reminded that this is the time of year to focus on health, on recharging my soul after the heavy push of the main farming season. It is the time to enjoy the company of family and friends, to focus on the experiences that foster loving connection and to make a conscious decision to push work to the background.
The work will always be there, chomping at the bit with myriad projects waiting in the wings. With the continued sunny weather this week, we’ll be starting to work on the barn roof. All the old nails and screws sticking out of the folded sheet of metal roofing need to be either pulled or cut off, rafters assessed for rot, new nailers installed across the top of the old shingles and the metal roofing put back on either by pulling the one smooth piece back over, or if that doesn’t work, disassembled and reinstalled a sheet at a time.
It’s funny that anything seems possible once the sun returns. Under gray skies I hunkered down, morose, shattered by the storm catastrophe and awed by the scale of the problem. With bright sunshine comes the reminder that all things happen one step at a time, and the best antidote to overwhelm is to begin with small, manageable pieces. Though we haven’t even begun the work, my mind state is made stronger by focusing on each part of the problem and the steps that need to be taken. I’m heartened by the offers of support from friends and community, and hopeful for the labor we will undertake together.
As we hiked downstream below Blue Rock the other day, we came upon old half-inch poly line running down the creek. We gathered it up into bundles to haul back out, for part of the tradition of these winter hikes is to remove any trash we come upon. The experience made me think about how many miles of poly line now exist in the creeks here on the North Coast. Poly is both incredibly useful and also becomes a travesty over time with poor or careless management.
The next day, driving back from doing chores at the ranch, I stopped the truck to watch the small herd of deer that live in the neighborhood move across the road. Three does with two fawns grown past the spotty stage browsed on the green as they moved along the landscape. I looked on in confusion, trying to make out what I came to realize was a “collar” of white, plastic netting around the neck of one of the fawns. It didn’t appear to be causing any pain or cutting into its fur, but it was still a marring reminder of the negative aspects of human interaction with the land and the animal populations that reside here.
Plastic has become ubiquitous in our world, so much so that it feels hopeless to try and do anything about it, yet in the same manner as big projects get done, one small piece at a time makes a difference. The fallout of the cannabis boom has left major impacts on our landscapes, just like the timber free-for-all in times past. Looking back at the learning curve in my own life, I can see a clear movement towards more caution and less wasteful or damaging practices as I learned and grew over time, and I hold this as hope for the future. As always, much love and great success to you on your journey!