This is the first morning that actually feels like there is fall in the air. I did a walk to check my squash counts. It was wet, cold and the air was clear. Quite beautiful with all the colors.
This, as you know is the final week of our 16 week summer/fall season CSA season. It was an experienced ladened summer to be sure. So many wonderful moments with so many very special people. Challenging yes, but so is anything that is worthwhile.
I truly hope you enjoyed being alongside. It could not have happened without you. So on behalf of the farm and myself, thank you.
As a farm we grew a lot this year. There is a vision, in case you are curious that involves three steps of growth.
The first, is that no one gets left behind. We communicate well and we offer opportunities to purchase. The second level is when we create opportunities to participate both paid and volunteer and as such educate. The third level, is when, as a farm we are able to look beyond ourselves and re-engage with the greater community that surrounds and supports us and re-invest in it. Something like hosting a Feast from the Field fundraiser for example.
I am going to leave you with something I have shared before. It is a short story about a sunflower that I wrote. It is published by Amazon and that version is beautifully illustrated by a remarkably talented Meaghan Conrod. Not mandatory reading, but it is reflective piece that some of you might find meaningful. It is the reason why a sunflower figures so significantly in our farm logo :-)
In earnest,
~Michael
“I am a part of all that I have met.” Alfred Tennyson
My Sunflower Story
The Conception
Inspiration was conceived on an early spring morning, years ago now but I will never forget that moment or what transpired that season. It was to be a celebration of artistic spirit. Nature was to be my medium by means of a simple house garden in the front of our home.
I cannot tell you why this became so important to me. Perhaps it was the influence of my father’s mother with whom I spent so much time as a child. My grandmother was a deeply spiritual woman whose monastic-like existence throughout her retirement was very much in sync with the rhythm of God’s Creation. Everything in her extensive nursery was planted with a prayer. I cannot think of her and not smell the aroma of cocoa shells, hear the sound of panting dogs and Westminster Chimes or her voice recounting the Psalmist, “This is the day the Lord hath made, Let us rejoice and be glad in it.” These words continue to echo inside of me and have borne much fruit in my own life. The value of the lessons that I learned from this well exceeded the labor.
My oldest, Timothy, barely three…digging industriously with his ‘esska’vay-tore’ while I forked through the mature sod much to the curiosity of those passing by. His mother and his brother, Jeremy, not even a year, would come out and assess our progress. Undaunted by the seasoned turf…I worked until the entire 50 square feet was fully tilled only stopping periodically to dump the toy truck (with accompanying engine noises of course) that Tim had filled. Fingernails, shoes, socks…pants were all filled with the rich soil that was still riddled with grass roots by day's end.
And so the plot lay fallow. The naked bed, unprotected from the elements, being washed in rivers onto the grey sidewalk. A blank canvas, enduring cold April showers with the air frozen with winter's icy breath. During this time I searched within myself, I consulted others…drew pencil diagrams on scrap pieces of paper and then would stuff them deep into the oblivion that is my pants pockets. It felt like I was somehow waiting for something to arrive, but didn’t know ‘what’ exactly.
The Creation
The long weekend in May found me joining the pilgrimage to the Garden center. I made my selections from the seemingly endless fields of flats. I would refer on occasion to the crumpled pieces of paper in my pockets. I stared deep into the images on plasticized Popsicle sticks that held the promise of prolific growth. I wanted the garden to have sort of an eclectic feel. So I went inside the garden center to the racks of packages of seeds. I was looking for grains and whatever else might suit. I found pumpkin seeds, barley seeds and other similar things. I still had no real specific thing in mind. It was at this point that I stumbled upon the package that really filled me with joy.
Sunflowers! Of course!! I will plant a whole row of GIANT sunflowers.
What a great addition! The kids will love them! I immediately decided that this was going to be the focal point of the entire garden. They would tower in the background with their Jack in the Beanstalk-like appeal. I felt so happy inside. It was all going to come together.
It was George Bernard Shaw who wrote, “The best place to seek God is in a garden. You can dig for Him there.” Perhaps it is that, that best describes planting day. Returning home with a car crammed with bags of peat moss, cedar chips, flats upon flats of young plants and of course, the sunflower seeds, I looked at the broad expanse with renewed ambition. Blending the peat moss into the soil with my hands and then with some help from some large stones in the back, I built up a series of tiers. Then again, loosely referencing my drawings, I started to plant taking into account color, size and time of maturation. What at first had seemed somewhat a vague image was now clear and transforming before my very eyes. Creative juices just flowed.
I stood back and looked and assessed, hands still coated with soil and empty flats and plastic bags scattered all around. What I saw was a little disheartening. The young seedlings in the large garden looked as ridiculous and as out of place as a boy who appears wearing his father’s suit. But like every doting parent, I overcame my inner misgivings, put on a brave face and watered the young plants by way of encouragement. “You will grow,” I promised them, trying, I think, to reassure more myself than them.
At last came the moment I was looking forward to the most. I rummaged deep into the last brown paper bag and pulled out my magical bag of sunflower seeds. I called out to Tim and he and I sat on the front step together. I showed him the package and explained how BIG the sunflowers were going to be. His eyes lit.
Together we planted all the seeds in the corner of the garden. Just exactly like the package told us. His hand on mine we then lightly covered them over and patted the soil down together.
There.
Planting was all done at last.
A feeling of satisfaction filled me as I washed the sidewalk and cleaned up my debris. I had done all I could do on that day. I took one last long look at my garden, so frail and yet so brave in the failing light, ready to face the darkness of the night.
“Yes, they will grow” a voice from inside of me said. So, with that I picked up the last of my gardening tools and headed into the house for the night.
The Stricken
As a watched kettle seems to never boil, nor does a watched garden ever seem to grow. But, somehow, when we were not looking, grow it did. Faithful irrigations, warm days and frost free nights were enough to entice the young sprouts to take root and venture forth into the light.
I confess a little disappointment as my entire package of sunflower seeds produced only four individual plants. While that was not what I originally hoped for, I consoled myself in knowing that that would mean one for each member of the family. It was meant to be. My only worry was that I had obviously planted them too closely and they would have to be moved apart as soon as they were strong enough to give each of them the room they would need. The light lengthened and the soil nourished and everything in my little oasis seemed to be taking off nicely.
So, the day came when I felt it was time to give each member of my little sunflower family its proper growing space. One was decidedly smaller than the others, but I was eager to get things re-located. Wetting the soil, and then as gently as possible, I carefully moved three of the four seedlings. I then packed the soil with my fingers around the hair-like root, and then casually watered them with perhaps too much confidence in my early success.
The garden was exposed to the west and the days were quickly becoming longer and hotter. My frail little sunflowers with their tiny leaves did not have much to shade their bed from the intense rays of the sun. I was delayed at my office and at 7pm it was still unseasonably hot. My first thought upon getting home was to check and see how the garden had endured. While appearing a little stressed, everything pretty much seemed ….. o…k….
Oh No!!!
Not all was well with our sunflower family. Of course the one that had not been moved at all was fine. Two of the others were limping, but still holding their own. But there was the one, the smallest one that was completely blanched and languished against the soil. No sign of life or hope at all. Damn.
I sat on the step for a while looking at it, grimly pronouncing it dead. Why had I not been more careful?! I looked at it a little bit longer, grieving the loss and not having the heart to pull it out. Disheartened, I watered the entire garden. I chastised myself further as a fine mist was being eagerly soaked up by the thirsty ground. I should have been more attentive. I watered all four of the sunflowers. I just couldn’t not. The hot sun had turned amber and with that it sank past the houses behind me, leaving me to stand in a dark abyss. The day was done. I climbed the steps and went inside for the night.
That very next morning, a Sanskrit prayer could well have been heard as the birds' jubilant chorus called out:
“Listen to the salutation of the dawn:
Look well to this day!
For it is life, the very life of life!
In its brief span
Lie all the verities and realities of your existence:
The bliss of growth
The glory of action,
The splendor of achievement.
For yesterday is but a dream
And tomorrow a vision,
But today well lived makes of every yesterday a memory of happiness.
And of every tomorrow a vision of hope.
Look well, therefore, to this day for it is life.
This is the salutation of the dawn!"
Still wiping the sleep out of my eyes, back out in front of the garden in my PJ’s I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
But there he was! My little sunflower, standing like a four year old on tippy toes for the family photo in an attempt to measure up with a cheeky grin. Resurrection! Triumph!
HA! I could not have been more proud of anything in that moment. This is the day, indeed to celebrate life and all of its wonder.
The Assault
Having shown such determination, I believed that there was nothing that could impede my little sunflower now. Most certainly the other members of the ‘family’ gave cause for confidence as they were all well on their way. The one plant that was never moved was nearing an impressive 6” with well established primary leaves and secondary leaves. The stem also was thickening to sustain the weight of the growth. The other two were not quite as far along as the first, but still showed good growth nonetheless. So certainly all the projections were positive and even though my little hero was frail by comparison, there was no way for this inexperienced Keeper of the Garden to anticipate what was to come.
Warm air and succulent foliage provides a welcome habitat to many an unwelcome predator. Oblivious of this threat, my tender seedling’s sole defense was to focus on being as strong as possible to endure. Already faced with such challenge, it was impossible to fortify against such a horror. There was no cry in the night. No sound to alert me. As Sun Tzu wrote, “the quality of the decision is like the well-timed swoop of a falcon which enables it to strike and destroy its victim.” There is no telling why the perpetrator picked my little sunflower above the myriad of selections it could have selected for its supper. Seemingly, the weak are the subsistence of choice for the strong. What I do know is, the only evidence of the crime was the carnage visited upon its victim, left tattered and stripped of its dignity.
Perhaps like a vampire, the threat of the new dawn sent the ‘would-be killer’ back to whatever crevice it dwells in to conceal it from the light. Perhaps it simply had had its fill. Whatever the reason, there was still a thread of hope. Careful inspection revealed that while the two primary leaves were all but gone, the seemingly insignificant secondary leaves still remained untouched. But would that be enough? They were so tiny! Immediate intervention was required to give my little sunflower the chance that was needed. I jumped in my truck to seek help.
Within the hour, I returned from the nursery armed with suitable pesticide and plant nutrient. With carefully mixed solutions, the garden was provided with a blanket of protection and the infirm were lovingly nourished. All that remained was to pray, have faith and to wait upon the power of Grace that remains above all understanding.
Then followed that beautiful season... Summer....
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood. ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Like the inspired works of Impressionist artists, Paul Cezanne and Claude Monet, by mid-summer, the garden flourished with a wash of color. The Coleus, the Begonias and the Snapdragons blooms were ever so magnificent. However, nothing stood as tall or as proud as ‘He Who Had Not Been Moved’. What a specimen he was, towering high over the rest of the garden like a great beacon. Expansive leaves pressed out with grandeur, supported by that which had become more a trunk then a stem. It boasted not just one but of THREE large face-like flowers. And each time someone stopped, child in arm, and pointed, it seemed to grow taller, exemplifying its splendor all the more. This was the self-proclaimed King of the Garden!
Meanwhile, well in the shadow of His Majesty was my little friend. He had managed to survive the nocturnal onslaught and achieved an impressive 20” of height with a full compliment of new leaves. No one could see him, of course. How could they? He was shadowed by the other members of his family like some kind of embarrassment. When the day came that his spaghetti- like stem bowed in submission to the weight of his wee head, I gently placed a small lattice beside him and bound him to the frame for support. I smiled softly at him from my place on the step.
The Onslaught
Then it came. Intense August heat and prevailing westerly winds evoked the annual clashing of the Gods. The cold and the warm fronts did battle of mythological proportion under a shroud of thunderous black cloud. Those who could took shelter from the violent sheet of rain and the pelting hail. But there is no place to hide when you are a garden. Petals were felled and plants lodged without mercy. The King of the Garden stood, unbending, defiant throughout the onslaught, stoically protecting His family as His once proud foliage was shred. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the storm was gone. Silence was tentatively broken by the single song of a robin still sheltered deep within the branches of a nearby maple tree. A ghost-like mist ascended eerily back towards the heavens and Noah’s promise of peace stretched across the expanse of the sky.
Yes, it was over. As I came out of my front door and down my steps to see what remained, I gently moved amongst the fallen. With my warm skin, flat against the cold wet verdure, I carefully lifted what I could. With bended knee I looked up to the King of the Garden with appreciative eyes. While badly damaged, He remained, somehow still regal in the presence of His most noble act. Legend would recount how He had remained true to His calling at the expense of His former glory. Somehow, I found Him more beautiful now. The little sunflower had remained unharmed. Standing back and surveying the garden as a whole, it was clear that, that, which had brought forth life, had now abruptly set the stage for the garden’s last dance.
The Abandonment
The foliage has been losing its freshness through the month of August, and here and there a yellow leaf shows itself like the first gray hair amidst the locks of a beauty who has seen one season too many. ~Oliver Wendell Holmes
I am intrigued by how often there are parallels as we pilgrimage. At the very same juncture as my garden’s closure, it was also revealed to us that a decade long chapter of residing in Peterborough, Ontario was coming to its natural end. This began a flurry of activity as I worked feverishly to put things to bed. You must end, before you can begin again.
Busy feet ran up and down the stairs to and from my door, past the garden. I did not notice how the barley had gone to seed or how the bean vines, stripped of their purpose at harvest had wound themselves around the rock, as if seeking to cling to eternity. The single faces of the two accompanying sunflower plants appeared like the two bishops on either side of their King, with their heads and shoulders now bowed in a solemn prayer.
The one exception to this dour vigil was my little sunflower. He seemed quite oblivious that the hour was late. Deep in his corner his little head still infant green, he watched with interest as I hurried back and forth with boxes in hand. I never felt it was not necessary to tell him he would never come to fruition like his other family members. What was the point? Why crush his dream? He had done well, given his circumstances. Besides, like a small child, he was absorbed completely in the moment. I don’t think he even understood what was happening as the last box was loaded and the back of the truck locked shut. And why would he? There was nothing to prepare him for this. He had seen me drive off countless times. I had always come right back. There was nothing in his experience to tell him that he was being left alone to fend for himself.
The Grande Finale
In the midst of winter, I finally learned there was in me an invincible summer. ~Camus
Days occupied with unpacking, settling and job seeking consumed September and most of October. Halloween popped out with a fright before us and there was still but one last nugget to pull from the old garden before the choruses of “trick or treat!” arrived on the door step.
Our very own home grown pumpkin for Timothy and I to carve together in the kitchen with mom guiding Jeremy absorbed in squishing slimy seeds through tiny fingers. It will be a perfect family memory. I confess to some anxiousness, wondering if it would still be there, having been left unguarded for so long. Where had the time gone? As I made the three hour journey back with a roadside lined with leafless trees, the length of my absence was undeniable. I tried to divert my thoughts from this truth by remembering the time that is past, when I was more present. Images of the garden flickered through my mind’s eye stopping and dwelling upon my little friend tucked in the corner. A pang of guilt went through me. How had it ended for him? So low to the ground, surely the frost had had its way by now.
A flood of relief flowed through me as I pulled up to the front of the house to see the pumpkin still there. The garden was amazingly majestic, like an ancient ruin. I paid my respects to the skeletal remains of the King and His Bishops. They were still overlooking their faithful subjects whose final act was to curl and die in homage at the feet of nobility. Even though it was mid day, the air had an unmistakable glacial chill. I shivered and rescued my prize gourd out of the graveyard. I cradled what I believed was to be the last boon of the season under my arm and headed towards the stairs.
There was nothing in any of this that could have led me to anticipate what I was about to witness. I came to an abrupt standstill and stared in complete wonder…
There, tall against the lattice, still very much alive was my little sunflower boasting a brand new yellow flower the size of a large coin. He had done it! He had done it! He had finished his race. He had completed his task. He had absorbed every last bit of warm summer air to do it and on the last day, of the last hour and in that last minute his tiny face shone with pride having overcome so many hardships.
My gift for being faithful to the calling of inspiration was to be the sole witness of this most remarkable triumph. I sat on the steps, reflecting on the lessons taught to me by the frailest of the family whose courage and tenacity that summer have found an eternal place in my memory.
In words that my grandmother may well have used, I could hear her say, “may this plant’s testimony propagate well and in all of it, to God be its glory, forever and ever”. Then with her eyes smiling upon the little sunflower after a thoughtful pause she would add, “Amen”.
