Many elements in nature come together each season to affect the fruits of our labor in the fields at Old Plank Farm. The wind, the snow, the sun, the frost, the heat, the storms, and the various critters that cohabit our land all write a part of the story as told in the vegetables we harvest.
But the most defining of all, year after year, is the role that the rain plays. The rain is almost always at the center of my attention during the growing season. It's sudden coming and going captivates and perplexes me more each year. The rain is a partner in the growing of our vegetables, and the joy and heartbreak it brings with equal regularity is never ending.
This year I have been learning to trust the rain. At least, I think I have. Perhaps I am just pleased with it because it has mostly done what I asked. Will I trust it even when it doesn't give me what I want? Probably I still have more to learn from the rain.
When the rain first begins to fall as it is breaking a dry spell--like it did last Sunday evening--I can feel its energy surround me as if it were being pulled from my own hands and out of my fingertips. All stress dissolves as the drops begin to soak the parched land. Those are the times when we try to relax, eat pancakes, read books, play music, and rest. Any frustration felt during dry spells is almost immediately forgotten.
Meanwhile, the need for it not to rain is often as strong as the need for it to rain. Last night's two downpours landed on already saturated soil causing standing water in several areas of our field. I was concerned by the hail pounding the delicate vegetable plants. I was annoyed that my plans for the next day--digging garlic and cultivating brassicas--wouldn't be possible on account of the muck. And I was devastated to think we might lose our carrot seedlings for the third time this season to washout. Hard rain at the wrong time has a way of destroying crops. Despite all that, I loved the rain like I always love summer rain.
The sweetest form of rain…these cantaloupes are loving the sun, heat, and rain this season.
Whether or not it rains too much, or too little, or too hard, or too sideways, we just keep doing our jobs as farmers and we watch the rain do its job. It does what it can, and we do what we can, and our partnership carries on. I am most grateful for this partnership each season when I taste the melons coming out of our field, now only a couple weeks away from the first harvest. They drip with juice, which was once the rain before becoming the best tasting food around.