I Am a Modern Farmer

It is not easy to catch my husband during landscaping season, so this morning after we went on a mushroom compost expedition I had him take a few photos of me in the garden. I was able to pull up some garlic, overgrown radishes, peas, and also the very first green beans before I had to come in and sit down. I had my gloves on so pulled some weeds, too, though not nearly as many as need pulling.

But what I want to tell you is the garden is a miracle. It is all there– large heads of broccoli, cucumber vines covered in blossoms, the first baby zucchini, giant basil, even tomatoes on the vine. There are weeds, a profusion of weeds, and it certainly aint pretty. There are no beets or carrots or onions or eggplant. But lordy, lordy, there is food.

My favorite publication related to the “food revolution” is Modern Farmer. I read their weekly emails eagerly and enjoy their profiles of “modern farmers,” many of them people who have retired or moved slightly off grid to do artisan things, raise animals, and/or just grow food. Among the story lines of this movement is the importance of community.

The story of my garden this summer is unquestionably one of community. Every year it’s a miracle when food appears in the garden, but this year particularly. It’s been a story of asking for, and receiving, help in the garden. It’s been a story of seeing how much I mean to people– and how much they wanted me to have the garden, how important it is beyond my self and to my self identity. I guess I didn’t know just how much I’d become a farmer these past eight years since I moved to this place until this year.

The garden story this summer been a story of the blind faith farmers invest in seed, soil, water, sun. In years past I’ve thought it was an unlikely activity for me– I’m too controlling really, too much of a perfectionist, too suburban, to cope with all the variables. Or I am not. Maybe I am able to accept my limitations, and accept God’s bountiful gifts, and not feel crushed by pressure to “work” the garden but just enjoy and savor its delights. This week, maybe even tonight, we’re going to have broccoli people!

Walking back from the garden, I thought: “I am crippled.” I can barely walk because of the neuropathy, and my blood counts have clearly bottomed out after this last week of treatment. I’m a little nervous about taking a bath because I don’t want to fall getting in or out of the tub. I didn’t touch the mushroom compost for fear of infection. I will spend another day mostly reading on the porch, though every bit I can push forward I do push forward. I have things to do!

Last weekend, when there was no one on the farm but me, I took a long, slow walk. I went in the greenhouse, still unfinished, and dreamed. There is one pallet left– the fans and electrical system. There is one pallet left– the curtains that will make up the lower level of the greenhouse. Next March, I will be cancer free and I will be planting out there. Next summer.

Much of this cancer walk is to keep facing forward and walking into the future. I am walking forward with optimism and the knowledge that the future is beautiful: full of community and full of food.