The land of many doorways.

A Perfect Moment

A Perfect Moment

The farm doesn't operate according to calendar time. There's no day when it's suddenly spring. Instead, it's an awakening. An unfurling. Buds swell and burst open.

We sometimes think of the land as blank and then not-blank, or dead and then alive. But that's not quite right. Nothing on the farm is ever dead. It's dormant, sometimes, or waiting. It's holding out for its moment. It might even be invisible.

Underneath it all, tremendous forces move. The soil teems with organisms. Roots push their way out of the hard seed coats that protect them from the worst of the cold and dig in for the long haul.

We often talk about hearing the messages that the land is giving us. This is another message, and one that doesn't translate easily into words. It's a message of knowing, of being, of belonging. When we really listen, we hear the songs that everything sings, harmonies as clear and piercing as the wind.

What are you hearing on the wind these days, as you pause to listen? Perhaps the coming of spring in the hint of damp green in the air. The potential of something as-yet-unformed. The breathless wait.

Your Farmer-
Luke





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