It’s Just That I So Thoroughly Enjoy It

There’s that moment when the fingers first hit the keyboard, the oh shit am I going to have anything at all to say? And I just start pounding on the keys and something invariably comes out.

That, as I know you’ve been wondering, is how these posts come about, and have, for oh so many years now.

Simple as that. No angst or anxiety at all. No pain. No exhaustion. Not one tiny bit. Actually, there’s tremendous trepidation as I start, but I keep on til the flow starts, and then I have a good time. It’s something that I really enjoy.

Anyway, the last few days have been gloriously warm, as if it’s been Spring for a few days.

It’s been warmer, so you’re outside without so many layers, the sun is getting higher, and the light, at times, seems more spring-like-light then winter-like-light. Everything is greening up.  These last few days have been a taste of what an April day is like

The associations I have in my head of April days are of planting greens – thousands of them. Of spreading fertilizer and raking beds. The temperature and the smells of the past few days are the same that I experience when I give the fields their first plowing of the year – something I’ve now done thirteen years in a row, The same sensations as hauling dozens of plug trays up onto the fields. Of planting out full beds of lettuce and kale and cabbage.

And for all those years I so thoroughly enjoyed every bit of it. The pre-dawn starts and the after dark exhaustion. The broken equipment and the day-late-and-dollar-short-ness of it all. I enjoyed every bit of it, because I was outside as the earth was coming alive and the light was increasing.

   These are feelings that I am unable to put into words, try as I may. I have a feeling in my mind, conjured up by visions of early Spring fields, and the sights and smells of that time of year, but I am unable to find the words that may impart those same feelings in you. Images pause in my mind, anything from the angle the sun makes coming over the mountain as I plant, or the dust that kicked up from the fields when the wind blows. The green of new leaves on the locust trees, or the sight of ground beetles scurrying for cover in a plowed field. I have tried for many years to find the words to represent my farming experiences, but I cannot find the words to impart on someone the way it all made me feel. I just keep coming back to the thought that I so thoroughly enjoyed it.

    The farm is shrinking. It will play less of a role in my life from here on. It may even one day shrink itself out of existence. I don’t know. I do know that I will miss it for the way that it was, when it was early spring and I had a full two acres turned over, and plant and seeds to fill it all, and I stayed out till way past dark, covered in mud, wanting to plant out just one more tray. It was all the source of such joy, of such complete satisfaction, and I mourn its loss. I hang on to bits and pieces – the greenhouse will get up and running this year. I’ll plant out a few rows. I’ll keep it on life support.

   It’s a shadow of its former self, and I keep looking at the shadow and seeing a representation of the whole, and that floods me with many happy memories. And makes me sad.