Tag Archives: farmer

lessons learned: pullin’ weeds

Posted by growing grace farm in creation, farming, gardening, lessons learned, nature, spiritual and tagged with , , , , , , , , , , ,

I am always amazed how words work their way into my life at just the right time.  I stumbled upon this one by chance and thought I’d repost.

You must weed your mind as you would weed your garden.  ~Terri Guillemet

He who hunts for flowers will finds flowers; and he who loves weeds will find weeds.  ~Henry Ward Beecher

It’s been a week of weed pullin’ around here.  With all of the cool rain followed by warm sun, the plants on the farm have grown higher and faster than their normal pace.dandelion

If I stand on my front porch, I can survey the little space I call my suburban farm.  Closest to the house are the perennial and native plant beds that I have cultivated for the 15 years we’ve lived here.  Beyond that, I can observe the onions and leeks, strawberries and berry bushes.  As the hill slopes towards the woods, the sunniest spot holds the place where tomatoes and peppers and herbs will thrive in hot summer heat.  Rounding out the shadier edges are the pea plants and greens, too delicate for long hours of sun.

From my front porch, all’s right with the world. Venturing to each bed, however, presents a different story.  Looking more closely, I find dandelions bullying the columbine and chickweed muscling in on the kale sprouts.  Everywhere I turn, I find unnecessary plants growing beside, on, and over my summer goodies.  Ugh!  Is an organic farmer’s work ever done?

This week, I had a few weeds of my own pop up in my  spiritual life.  Spiritual weeds, you ask?  Yes!  I define “spiritual weeds” as those words, actions or events that choke us and deprive of us of the nourishment we need for our souls.  Like dandelions or crabgrass, spiritual weeds aren’t necessarily intentional–their seeds just happen to land in our lives then take root and grow.  Then there are the plants that appear when we least expect them–an invader sneaking into our lives when we least expect it and sowing weeds here there and everywhere.

Before we know it, we are surrounded, and maybe even overwhelmed by, negativity, apathy, and bitterness.  We struggle to push past their broad leaves and and invasive roots so that we can return to our spiritual center.

Granted, we will always have weeds in our lives.  It’s part of creation, but this week, mine seemed to take hold and dig in.  So what did I do?  I started pullin’.

Pullin’ weeds requires a bit of intentionality and grace.  To complete the task, you’ve got to have the right tools but also be very careful.  Go in there fast and furious, and you end up sacrificing some of the good plants along the way.  I find that if I step back from the situation, assess the issue, then proceed with caution, I can usually extract the culprit without damaging any of the resources that support my spirit.

It’s better to pull a weed when it’s young rather than letting it mature and hoping it will go away on all its own.  I find that if I manage the situation proactively, then I don’t have to get the situation under control reactively.

Finally, pullin’ weeds doesn’t have to happen if you don’t plant yourself near the weeds in the first place.  As my good friend used to say, “Why go borrowin’ trouble?”  Oh yes, the weeds will always be there, but we don’t necessarily have to sow our spirit among them.

As for me this week, I gave a little yank here and a big tug there.  I gently tended to the things that would help me continue to grow, and I found myself a little more at peace.

gentle gardeners and creation care

Posted by growing grace farm in creation, farming, gardening, nature, permaculture, spiritual and tagged with , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

For much of the last century, religious institutions have missed–or ignored–our responsibility as stewards of the creation and to the Creator.  However, people of faith have long relished the grimy pleasures of gardening.  The process of nurturing life brings contentment and a sense of wholeness in the accomplishment.  We instinctively understand that we were designed to be gentle gardeners.  We just haven’t realized the entire planet is our garden.

~Michael Abbate, Gardening Eden:  How Creation Care Will Change Your Faith, Your Life, and our World

A couple of weeks ago, I was blessed to attend a regional conference sponsored by RAFI (http://rafiusa.org/come-to-the-table/) on farming, food, and faith.  Since that time, I have been pondering my calling as a front yard farmer and “ecovangelist” and renewing my connection with creation as Spring comes to Growing Grace Farm.

With Winter bringing disappointment, rain, and home projects, my time and energy had moved away from gardening and farming, and I can tell I’ve been feeling it in my spirit.  I don’t know about you, but there is something life-giving that grows within me when I tend to the earth–even if it’s only within the context of a small yard farm.  It is bigger than me and compels me to want to be a better person.

Last night as my daughter and I watched the movie Rent, I caught hold of a line that planted itself inside of me.  One character eloquently noted, “The opposite of war isn’t peace, it’s creation.”   Because I love the art of language, I didn’t let that one pass by–I stopped the movie and contemplated it for a moment.  When I thought about it, I realized he was right.  War brings with it destruction.  When we see photos of war-torn countries, we witness people, the environment, and communities devastated and lacking in resources, wanting for life.veggies in bowl

Perhaps that is why gardening and farming have become so critical to my being.  They are the means by which I can put my faith into action and create–create a healthy and sustainable environment, create connections with God that nurture and heal.

My prayer is that in some way, each one of us will become “gentle gardeners,” engaging in creation not only for the sake of the Earth but also for the wellbeing of our faith.

dirty hands, peaceful heart

Posted by growing grace farm in farming, gardening, homesteading, journey, spiritual and tagged with , , , , , , , , , ,

My hands are small, I know
But they’re not yours, they are my own

~Jewel, “Hands”

Raising a teenage daughter comes with it many interesting gifts and graces, and I am also learning to appreciate (to be read: “tolerate”) the feedback she likes to offer about my wardrobe and such.  Typically, anything I do or wear is “embarrassing,” and I figure if I evoke that emotion in my teen, then I’m doing something right.

Although she is not consumed by makeup, the girl does love her nail polish.  It is as much of an accessory to her as her jewelry.  I, on the other hand, am just happy if I can keep my nails short and clean–”the better to garden with, my dear” I tell her.gardener hand

After she asked me to consider painting my nails last night, I sat and inspected my fingers.  These are the hands of a woman who clearly spends time outside.  There are scrapes on the back of my right hand where I reached in between some blackberry vines to grab weeds and came out a little scathed.  My thumb has a cut on the knuckle from a rock I was rearranging in the lettuce spiral.  My nails are short, my cuticles are dry, and my skin is freckled.  None of which I would trade for anything in the world, given how I’ve come to earn these hands.

These hands can reach into a fresh soil without any worries of chipping nail polish. These hands can build a vertical garden without concern of a broken nail.  These are hands with stories to tell and food to share.  These hands can plant, hammer, rake, hoe, dig, and harvest–these hands make me happy.

So the next time my teen stares at my hands as if they are simply pitiful, I’ll just smile, hoping that one day she’ll trade in her finely lacquered nails for a bit of dirt or at least a very cool pair of gardening gloves!

lessons learned: what farming can teach us about patience

Posted by growing grace farm in creation, farming, gardening, journey, lessons learned, nature and tagged with , , , , , , , , ,

Life on a farm is a school of patience; you can’t hurry the crops or make an ox in two days.

~Henri Alain

When I taught young children and as I raised my daughter, I had several lessons I wanted to impart–one of those was “practice being patient.”  If you know young children, it is a tall order to tell them “be patient” so I adapted it to “practice being patient.”  This phrase let them know that Ms. Cameron (or Mom) appreciated their excitement and curiosity but also wanted to teach them a skills that would serve them well.

Needless to say, the teacher was the worst student.

As I began my little suburban farm, I expected everything to happen quickly and effortlessly and perfectly the first time.  I wanted nature to be on my schedule.  The first year, I spent so much time concerned about the end result that I missed what the journey had to offer along the way.

a week's harvest

a week’s harvest

Cancer and two surgeries slowed me down the second year, thank goodness.  I didn’t just have to “practice being patient”–it was my only alternative.  I learned how to watch the sun and track where it would be at different times of the day.  I started composting with the notion that given time and the right ingredients, I’d have nutrients to enrich my soil.  Rather than tending to nature by confining it to my box of preconceived expectations, I let nature tend to me which offered me a new world of observation, simplicity, and even patience.

That’s when I became a farmer.

And so, as time has passed the last two years, I find myself nodding my head as friends and other gardeners tell stories of giant yields and early tomatoes, perfectly planned plots and gorgeous garden gizmos.   I get where they’re coming from, but me, well, I’m gonna put on my overalls, grab the pitchfork and go turn some compost.  The plants will grow themselves just fine.