Fruits of our labor...literally

A windy gravel road leads to the 2-acre plot of tomato plants at Jorgensen Farms. Past the meticulously manicured flower garden, the cat named Thyme, and the mason jar chandelier in the rustic event barn, are the 60-acre fields of organic produce. Fields enduring the weight of hoop houses and tractor tires. They wear plastic yellow bins spotted with flecks of dirt and grass and paw prints of critters hoping to steal a snack among the raised beds. They sprout English cucumbers and garlic chives with the help of honeybees, moths and butterflies.

This is where I first farmed; this is where I felt my being blissfully dissipate into the soil beneath me.

Tomato harvest

Blistered and Bruised
These are my hands after 6 hours of pleading the white, waxed twine to hold the the prickly Martha Washington vines. Tomato trellising. A bead of sweat runs down my neck to stain my red t-shirt tucked beneath my hand-made irrigation pipe twine belt. My feet slosh in 1 foot of muddy, mosquito-infested water in between the tomato beds. My body aches.

I sink into the mud, earth's natural suction cup, and both feet disappear.

 "Isn't it beautiful," Taylor, another farmhand, whispers.

I scan her face hoping it mirrors my emotions. She feels it too, oddly enough, and I cannot help but ask myself:
                                  "Why is there beauty among unripe food, mud, and blisters?" 

I call this Life Lessons by Food.

Tomato trellising

Philosophy in the Fields

• There is beauty in brokenness. 

The long, labor intensive days of farming are so physically exhausting that the only thing I know to do is to feel and to feel immensely. It is humbling. It is where the adage "the fruits of our labor" speak so much truth! The work you put in, is almost always a direct product of what is produced and this is so true of ourselves. Sometimes, the easy routines of life dull our ability to focus, observe, and reflect. The tranquility of working in silence causes a 

1) still soul or 

2) restless soul that begs for resolution

It is during those quiet hours that the stillness between yourself and land stirs more healing inside than you could could ever stir compost into its soil. 

• Life takes time. 

"Tie the twine, wrap it around the vines and stakes...now pull tightly, but not too tight or you will break the vine," Dave, the farmer's son, instructed.

He forgot to add the "repeat for 8 hours straight" part, which I discovered later.

The detail in propping each plant in its place to bear the the first small, round green tomato teaches us how to care. In tending to the rows of fruit, we are reminded of the patience required to foster healthy relationships with others and ourselves. It takes time, attentiveness, discipline, and oh yeah... a little water.

As the product of our labor grows, we value life of even the smallest of sprouts, embracing all the twists, turns, and shapes it may take to reach its full potential. 

• Community in food production.  

Lastly, the community that enables sustainable agriculture to occur is vast. It is the passionate start of the long "farm to table" chain equally impacted by the synergy of the ecosystem as much as those who maintain it. The interconnectedness of those facilitating food production, such a raw and basic but simultaneously complex and intricate cycle, equalizes us. From this we learn that synergy is more than science, but it is based on the faith for a common goal. For hope the sun will shine, the rain will fall, and we will serve as one small influence on the earth's magnificent cycle of growth and decay.

Humans are plants and the production of food is the closest interaction we have with both life and death. We live and die and during this process we call 'life' we can use these lessons to serve others and nourish ourselves with the earth's beautiful bounty.