I’ve spent them….40….way too many….waiting to go home.
When I coined the phrase and started the camp in 1998, I wasn’t sure how to articulate what this meant. Today I am only beginning to feel comfortable trying to form the words.
I knew this: the doe touching noses with my pony over the fence was it.
Like the Meadow Across the Creek for Berry, this image has been a touchstone of all that is good in the world, and in right relationship.
The natural world
leaning into the human,
the human leaning back;
places to hide and thrive;
reaching out to touch, and be touched:
Good soil is indeed gold…but gold is only worthwhile if gold is sold. Gold in the hand does little good. Good is the operative word here. Does it do ‘good’ to sell the gold? Is it accurate to say ‘I made good on that land’. It makes money, but is that good? Was there a better purpose? Perhaps keeping the soil in place would allow it to grow in value. Invest the gold instead of harvesting it. Perhaps you could find a way to live on the dividends instead of the principle.
What do you mean when you say, “That did me some good”. Usually you mean it improved your lot in life. Maybe your health, for example. I would not deny you your health. I want your health. I am glad that did you some good. In this case, certainly we want what is good. I have a feeling this is a more accurate use of the word good when talking about the land. Good land nourishes, heals, and sustains.
What about, “That apple is no good”. Here, no good means it has no value, might even make you sick. Here, health is at risk. But again we must be cautious. To the speaker, perhaps, as immediate food the apple is not a good choice. But a rotting apple has plenty of value and does plenty of good in the right place.
Suddenly Good is not such a simple word. We should be very cautious when ascribing such an unspecific term to such a critical topic.
What is good for the land, and what makes a good farmer is an essential question.
Exchange happens. Energetic inputs and outputs flow to and from a farm. Your soil provides the food, that feeds you and animals, who in turn feed you. It matters that we track the benefits and beneficiaries across the ecological community,
Chief Seattle articulated this. What about not buying or selling the land? What about not capitalizing on the soil? What about letting the land feed you, but not overtaxing that delicate relationship? What about, instead, keeping it in balance, allowing it to rejuvenate?
This goes beyond sustainability; this is about minimalist use. How much can you allow the land to be itself, while you belong there, too? How fair can you be with your piece of earth that you call home? How lightly can you live there? Can you farm and leave no trace?
Forest farming has my attention. Wild edibles do too. There is a whole lot more nutrition, a whole lot less work, and a ton of innate resilience in the native greens some call weeds. Sure, domestic greens do provide less challenge to the palate for some. Perhaps they can grow together.
A good farmer, then, farms in relationship with the land, with minimal impact and allowance for the human’s right to be there also. The good farmer recognizes they do belong to the community of beings in a place, and like the others, makes a place where growing and thriving happens, just not to the exclusion of everyone else. Good farmers and good land give to each other, and belong to each other.
Belonging becomes the word. A good farmer belongs.
We tried a keyhole garden last fall, and it did no more to keep out vermin than would using a screen for an umbrella. So, we surrounded it with fence, which made some improvement except for burrowers, and skinny rabbits. That season was a fail. Spring has been quite the opposite! By adding a light cloth-like screening cover directly on top of the crop, we overcame the moths, allowed in the light, and deterred browsers. The kale seems delighted.
Sometimes I search for meaning. Usually it’s when I am building up energy for a big endeavor. That is happening now. Should it materialize, big is a fine word.
I was born in the decade Rachel Carson published Silent Spring, heralding the environmental movement and inspiring a generation. Her book title asks us to consider what these evenings would be like if we could not hear Pseuddacris Crucifer, Hyla Chrysoscelis, Pseudacris feriarum or Lithobates clamitans.
That same decade, William Albrecht pointed out that the health of the soil affects the nutrient balance between proteins and carbohydrates in both feed and food crops, and concluded that only healthy organic soils with the proper balance of both macro and micronutrients could produce the complete proteins necessary for good human health.
The Universe delivered me into a time of voices telling powerful truths.
Next time I’m in Norwood, visiting the Fork, I am going to try and stop by Lazy Heron Farm. How dreamy.
What does it mean to live lightly on the land?
I do not like work, for work’s sake. I think manicured landscapes in suburban cul-de-sacs tend toward the ego, and therefore away from honoring the whole, allowing the essence to grow up. Mostly the ornamentals provide little nourishment for biodiversity.
On the other hand, when everything becomes so overgrown that it goes to seed, nothing can thrive because everyone vies for the available resources. The strong (resilient, invasive, adaptive, common) out compete the sensitive, tender/rare/beautiful/endangered/historic for sun or water or pollinators.
When we do not work at all in the space we call home, the place grows over until there is no space carved out for a lovely life for ourselves.
The farm sits in the interface between the natural world and the human expression. The farm is how the human works in relationship with the surrounding ecosystem, and the farm gives back. The farm creates habitat for wildlife, and provides home for humans, too.
This truth brings up back to our own homes and habits, wherever we live.
When I ignore the laundry, or paperwork, my place becomes a mess, populated by those unruly ‘inhabitants’ (biological or otherwise) allowed to run ragged over that which would provide succor, nourishment, and peace to the soul. A pile of dirty clothes wreaks havoc on my sense of peace, and place.
So, although I do love turning to a forest or field for food, and fear the drudgery of endless, backbreaking hoeing or weeding, I see the need for balance. One must use energy to continually carve out a place of order so that which brings calm and structure can still breathe, drink, photosynthesize, create food, regenerate and propagate the rare, beautiful and health-giving ones.
I long for a farm, and I long to be.
A human, Be-ing.
Microbes make healthy soil, and a healthy gut.
Pesticides and herbicides kill soil organisms — and the life in us.
Dehydration makes for unhealthy soil and plants, and also our body systems.
Bacteria, fungi, protists, animals and plants all eat and recycle each other., working together to create a diverse and balanced ecosystem; and our bodies require diversity and balance to stay in health , as do our ecosystems.
Given a choice, animals will choose the healthier food.
Insects and diseases will go for unhealthy plants, especially those rich in sugar; and disease in our bodies thrives in sugary environments, too.
Manage your farm like your body: for health. Don’t chase bugs. Establish wellness – in your soil and body.
Predators attack the sickness – they do a service, and indicate sickness. The symptoms can be distracting. Addressing symptoms covers root causes., and nutritional deficiencies.
This is the nature of addiction. After a while, when we avoid unhealthy food, we do not even desire to eat it. Our urge for sugar disappears. The biome of our bodies does not crave sugar. We are well, like healthy plants , and less susceptible to disease.
Take that one more step. Our spirits are the same. Feed the spirit wholesome stories and faith-filled experiences. This soul nutrition serves our minds , making them more drawn to healthy thoughts and more able to make choices which serve our body and ultimately, our world. Wellness is all-encompassing, and at least as big as this Earth and our nearby Heavens. .
Why not just BE a hard worker?
Our State Motto: To Be and not to Seem.
Let’s pray no one buys these.
I really don’t want to go inside.
What a Spring we’ve had! Happy Easter.