The end is the beginning
Though I've worked here for 5 years now, I just concluded my first full season on this little farm. You can see the curvy Fremont Bridge when you stand by the white raspberry bushes. The location couldn't be more poetic. While stooping to tug on a stoic weed, the hum of the rushing cars from the highway settles around you. Besides an occasional helicopter on its way to the emergency room disrupting your concentration on that said stubborn weed, strangers are drawn to the unexpected green patch in the inner city. What are you doing? Playing in the dirt, I always respond with absolute honesty. Is it a community garden? Yes and no, I say smiling. It is a community space, and you should come join us. But there is no cost, except for an occasional sore back and the risk of sun burn. We learn some about each other. Sometimes, I see these newfound friends again, sometimes I don't. But it is always just right.
We pulled out our ninety tomato plants yesterday. Since the cool weather has tucked the city in, I've secretly mourned the end of this wonderful episode of growth. I couldn't stay away, though I didn't try very hard, from the farm this summer. It is the only place the only thing that made any sense somedays. The sun, the rain, the plants, the roots, the sweetness of it all held me together. Personally, my mind may be overridden by weeds. Granted, some are rather beautiful, like the chamomile plant on the farm, but others are just stubborn. The farm, that unexpected little plot of land, was always just right. It doesn't really make sense to struggle, regardless of what we might have been taught by tired teachers. No. You just let things grow and everything will be alright.
I was saying I have been mourning the end. I only wanted to admit that so that I can declare that foolish. There is no end in growing. Taking advantage of the break in the rain, we prepared for the winter. As a little community we pulled the tomatoes to prepare the rows for the fava beans (I cannot wait to feed the world fava with love next spring), we tilled rows to plant chard, kale, garlic, kohlrabi, onions, purple peacock broccoli, and shallots. These preparations are the first steps for spring, which unfold into summer. I can't find the end or the beginning anymore. I suppose this is just another little lesson from my favorite little plot of land in the world.
