It Goes On And On
Our dog, Murphy, goes on two walks a day. Once in the morning with my dad and once at night with me. Yes, he's spoiled.
My parents have been out of town this week which means I got to take Murph on both walks. Which means I got to see a lot of nature this week. On one walk, we were coming around a bend in the woods. On a hill near us there was a black mound. When you take the same route every day, year after year, it's easy to pick out things that are out of place. And this mound was not normally there.
Getting a little closer, I saw that the black mound had feathers. A lot of them. A little closer still and I saw that it was a turkey vulture. Its head spun to watch us as we turned and quickly walked the other direction. Seeing that it was after dark, I assumed the bird was hurt if it wasn't roosting. I was hopeful when we didn't see it still there passing through the next day.
On another bend we came upon two cats in a standoff. A scrawny black shorthair in a pounce position and the largest Siberian-looking breed I've ever seen. Whatever was at stake in this fight it must have been a big deal because neither of them flinched from their mid-fight staredown when Murphy and I tiptoed around them. I wonder if they worked it out.
Driving up to the greenhouse one day I saw a squirrel channeling his inner NFL Hall of Fame instincts. The tiny guy darted in and out of the line of my tire in one motion like a mini-Emmitt Smith. In one jump from the ditch he was on death's door. And in the next jump, springing from the momentum of the first, he was back in the air, out of way, in the direction from where he came, safe and sound in the same ditch. It was pure agility and all before I could think to move for the brake.
It got me thinking: nature is a real bucking bull. An untamable beast. We are just here to observe it and—worst case scenario—obstruct it, or—best case scenario—react to it.
I once heard someone say that it takes ten years to truly get good at farming. (It was J.M. Fortier, a grower we admire and whom we have learned so much from.) It's an interpretation of the 10,000-hour rule to master a subject. Mastery takes 10,000 hours. Throw axes at a target in your backyard for an accumulation of 10,000 hours, working on your accuracy and consistency, studying videos of the pros, and you will become an expert axe thrower. But as good as you get at farming (and we are far from considering ourselves there yet) you can never master it. Because you can't control nature.
When we build greenhouses, lay out irrigation, install insect defenses, we aren't controlling nature. We are reacting with the rules it has set forth. If you play by the rules, she rewards you. If you stray, she takes over and leaves her signature of weedy rows, low yields and weak germination. Nature has been around a long time, much longer than 10,000 hours, and she's truly a pro. We're still rookies, still learning the rules and the best ways to react to all of them. We will never catch up, but maybe that's the best blessing.
Another farmer and legend, Elliot Coleman, compared farming to climbing a mountain. In his younger years, Coleman was a big outdoorsman, and mountain climbing was in his repertoire. He said the worst part of a climb was reaching the top. You just stand there at the peak looking at the view. There's nothing hard left to do. Growing food, he said, was like hiking a mountain with no peak. That's why it's great. It's never not hard. You're constantly challenged and you're never done.
Farming is unique like that. There are small accomplishments along the way, but every accomplishment produces even more challenges. A crop is finished—how do grow more of it next year? The lettuce yielded great—how do we harvest it faster? A growing season ends—how do we extend it and grow longer?
The bridge construction is done. That leaf raking is done. The concert is done. But "the farm is done" is a ridiculous phrase. Because farming's industry is nature. And nature is never done throwing you curveballs. She's a mountain that keeps getting taller, and even Jared Leto could never make it to the top.
—John
