Not today

I'm so tempted to write every day about beautiful things, lessons learned, precious moments.  I think I've been trying to paint a picture of farming through the eyes of people that come for an hour or two every week, or that are sitting inside with their phones, wishing they were outside with some plants.  The beauty of newness, bright colors, satisfying work, and kind hearted people.  It's so tempting to stay focused on that here, and write about the things I wish I was focusing on.  Like this bean sprout.

Bean sprout

It's so cute, standing up tall like a sentinel, surrounded by hundreds of other babies spreading their green wings toward the sky for the very first time.  I could go on and on about the sweetness of tomato flowers bursting open or the nostalgic aroma of wet potting soil permeating the greenhouse air.  I want to be attuned to all those details all the time.  To really savor them.

Yeah, right. 

If I'm honest today, I have to admit that I took that photo just to have taken a photo today, to have something to write about.  I wasn't admiring those bean sprouts mindfully, or doing much appreciating of anything today.  I had my head down, pricking and thinning and labelling the thousands of plants we're growing for next weekend's plant sale.  It's satisfying and beautiful to work with all the young plants and get them all organized and pretty for the sale, but I wasn't in the mood to let that soak in today.  I just stayed in auto pilot, somewhat frenetically moving from mini project to mini project to tie up the endless loose ends that the sale presents to us.  My shoulders started to ache again, which they tend to do not from the physical stress of manual labor, but from the tension that I hold when I'm mentally stressed.  By the time I found myself at the yard debris disposal lot, awkwardly yanking tree branches from our dump truck that was too full to easily dump, I wanted to give up.  Yes, some days I just want to give up.  I don't want to be inspired, or feel creative, or learn new things.  I close off my senses, step into my busy mind, and before long start feeling crazy from the whirlwind of little thoughts that fling themselves back and forth across my consciousness.  It's exhausting, and my body starts to ache from it, and I cry off and on listening to stupid songs on the truck radio, and I want to drop it all and find a patch of warm grass and blow furious raspberries at anyone who tries to rouse me.

Some days are like that.  They come and they go, and I end up loving them later for reminding me why, most days, I make an effort to be present.  Maybe that special moment with the bean sprouts, that one where I breathe in the oxygen they're releasing and sit long enough to see them move, will happen another time.  Just not today.  Definitely, not today.