I am delighted every day, whenever I remember to pause. It's all too easy to get caught up in a task, or start thinking ahead to the next thing that needs to be done, and not even really see what's surrounding me. Sometimes being "in the flow"--when you're totally engaged, learning something new or problem-solving, when the hours just fly by--can be exhilarating in itself. But other times, I can find myself (especially in front of the computer) just jumping from one thing to another and before I know it, the day is over...
On the farm, though, I'm finding it easier to pause, to look around myself, and to breathe deep. I think the rhythms of the day help: morning harvest is usually a quiet time, and the stillness of the garden can make me just stop and take in my surroundings, and smile.
With my harvest basket in hand, I will look up, stretch my back straight, and catch a glimpse of beauty...
Morning glories climbing the fence...
The geometry and grace of a squash blossom, its spiraling shoots and vines, the tiny little hairs covering it....
The amazing colors and shapes of our harvest, spread out on the countertop...
Zucchini, Ichiban and Green Goddess eggplants
Annelino beans (curly green beans)
Anaheim and Cherry Bomb peppers
Sun Gold and Cherry Tomatoes
Yard-long and Indy Gold beans...
Taking time to pause and appreciate is part of the culture of the farm, too. Living in community, with six other adults who have a range of interests and responsibilities, means that other people are always doing something wonderful when you aren't looking...Walk into the pantry, and find that of the Sisters made a whole batch of Jalapeno Dill Pickles (YUM!)...walk into the yard, and see that someone has been busy planting and mulching, and there's a whole new bed of beets just bursting forth...go into Chapel and there's a beautiful arrangement of flowers gracing the altar...There's berries freezing in the freezer, eggs in the refrigerator, wood chopped and fences repaired, tidy guestrooms prepared for friends and visitors, and, always, delicious clean water brought from the building across the street.
It's a symphony of sorts, one played in many parts and at different moments, and there can be bumps and scrapes along the way. But the abundance of gifts that is the manifestation of this symphony is breathtaking: a perfect cherry tomato, in a season when most tomatoes in the northeast were devastated by blight. A parade of ducklings, marching to their morning bath. The collective happiness about the homecoming of a cat thought lost. The enjoyment of shared work, shelling beans and beans and beans.
There's Hidatsa Red, Black Coco, Arikara Yellow, Black Turtle, Hutterite, Edamame, Kidney, Cannelini, Vermont Cranberry, and Scarlet Runner beans, for starters. These are all "dry beans," and that means we let them ripen and dry on the vine, waiting as long as possible before we harvest them. With all the rain, we need to be careful about them sprouting, as those can't be stored for the winter. (The little white bowl in the upper left has some of the sprouted beans we found, in and among the others.) Much of our work is in preparation for the winter, though the weather makes it hard to believe that it's already the end of August...
And although we are preparing for the months to come, what strikes me again and again is how much this community is living in the present. Every day we pause, at every meal, to say what we are grateful for. It's an amazing exercise, to stop and think about what you can give thanks for, and I find it makes me much more aware and appreciative of all that I am experiencing.
Every day we pause, to stop and stretch and look around, to check in with the cats and the dogs, and the ducks and the chickens, and even the bees, to see how everyone is doing. And these pauses are nourishing, enlivening, filling. I hope that everyone can find moments in which to pause, to look around, to breathe.
