This is why I've been forcing myself to write every day: because when I set out to document and reflect on an entire week that's somehow slipped past me, the task seems impossible. There are so many details and conversations and colors and projects that happen in one hour, let alone one day-- and forget one whole week!-- that to try to encompass the whole will be woefully inadequate. Nonetheless, I guess, I'll persist.Read More
I feel like I'm walking across a recently abandoned battlefield, where the only remnants of life are a few greedy scavengers trying to find pieces of gold in dead soldiers’ pockets. Or something like that. We're checking for any last survivors of zucchini and summer squash in our greenhouse beds. They had a great run-- about six weeks right at the beginning of harvest season-- but they're crashing faster than I'd imagined. Leaves are flopped over and sticking to the black plastic underneath from the thick juices of aphids and squash bugs. We find a handful of stunted, deformed fruit from both entire beds, deposit it half-heartedly in a crate, and quickly move on.Read More
Our visible achievements always get the glory and recognition, but for me the invisible is just as important. And for all the conversations about life, learning about plants, skill-building and muscle memory developing in everyone's bodies and minds, I leave the week with persnickety obsession with what we have yet to accomplish. It's such a relief to look backwards, see what we've done, hear feedback from people about how they've grown. Maybe even more than the plants have.
Sometimes, that growth is wildly uneven. We grow and learn only because the plants don't thrive as expected. Take the first round of spinach from the greenhouse.Read More