O’Neill: The farmer’s path is full of complex choices

The rain pelts down, mixed with sleet as the day draws towards dusk. I am harvesting for market, gathering in the produce that is outside the greenhouses before it can be damaged by the oncoming snow. I work methodically, filling the tubs and returning them to the shelter of the storage room. I think about the nature of farming, the way that my actions are shaped by the elements, driven like the rain.

My yellow-handled harvest knife slices through the tender salad mixes with ease, and I am grateful for the services of Scott, the sharpener man, who comes to the farmers market at the beginning of each month. He keeps the blades of my farm tools keen, making my work easier. I think about the support systems that make our farm function, the web of community that gathers what we need and carries away the results of our labors so that they may sustain and nourish.

I am reminded that loving care is the glue that binds us together, it is the impetus for my efforts, the reason I find myself harvesting in a cold rain yet feeling comforted and comfortable in the work. Good rain gear makes a huge difference, but it is the depth of love and care that defines the work in terms of joy instead of drudgery. Though my body experiences the chill of the weather, my soul sings in answer to the calling of the rhythms of the farm.

There is much physical discomfort in the life of the farmer, soreness and pain chosen as part of the path. With it comes the knowledge of inevitable decline in human form, changes observed as the years pass; this knowing underpins deep gratitude for my body, for the work that it does in service to the calling. As the years slip by, I see the changes in my physical form, shifting in an inverse relationship to the changes in my skills and knowledge. I learn that the old adage “work smarter, not harder,” has a lot to do with aging.

The end of February and the first half of March are the hardest times of the year for farm production. I think of it as the “starvation period,” when the heavy winter brassica have all been harvested and the storage crops have been eaten or have begun to rot. It is the time when I wish for more hoophouse space, and when I have to get creative to meet the needs of our market channels.

By the end of March my winter-planted salad mixes and root crops will be in full swing, and by April the early plantings of cabbage and broccoli will begin to trickle in. The season will run its course with increasing production, and the stress of winter will fade. Each year, as the time comes again, I find our farm with slightly more production as we move through the learning curve of the work. It is a positive feedback loop that yields better results with each trip around the sun, part of the deep core of what drives me: the effort to do better.

This is also the time of year when I scour the local food system, checking with other farmers to see what extra production they might have available. I love the shared camaraderie that flows from these interactions, for we each know the realities of the life, and this knowing makes for deep bonds. I am glad for the community of farmers, the sweetness of the interactions and the commiseration during the difficult times.

As I continue with my harvest work, I find a solid showing from the radishes, plucking them from the bed into the harvest crate and then covering the bed again with the insect netting that protects them from bird damage. I take the salad mix and radishes to storage and head back out after broccoli. I am delighted to find production well above my expectations, plenty for our CSA members with a whole additional tote to sell on my market table.

The broccoli is so abundant that it takes longer to pick than I expect, which is a good problem to have yet finds me harvesting bok choy as dusk descends. I cut the main stem of each plant, take off any battered leaves and add it to my harvest tote. During wash-pack the following morning, we will dunk them and bunch them for CSA and the market table. I am again pleased by the level of production, thinking with gratitude of the effort that went into planting them back in early fall during the hectic rush of harvest.

The constant cycles of farming make for a complex picture with myriad moving pieces. Keeping them all in order can be daunting, yet is the essence of my work, the fascinating puzzle that drives me to be better, to learn, to work smarter, not harder. As always, much love and great success to you on your journey!