I stopped cold walking across the farm last week. One lone raspberry bush, loaded. by Chad
There’s a feeling this time of year. A weight. A heaviness — mentally, but also something that shows up in my body. It starts the day the irrigation turns on.
From there it’s a sprint. Racing to fix all the breaks from winter, then through to planting and transplanting flowers, then pumpkins. The last two weekends have been sun-up sprints, and some of the evenings too — getting equipment ready. I carry it in my neck, my shoulders, my back. An actual weight that feels like it’s really there. But it also provides focus. Like hitting a major project deadline at work.
This past week, I realized something. We’re over the hump.
And the relief of being over the hump landed at the same time as something else: our first fruit.
About three weeks ago I was walking across the farm — from the farm side over to the side where our home is — when I saw it. One lone raspberry bush, loaded. I stopped. I stood there plucking and eating, almost like I was starved for the taste of these red, sweet balls of amazingness. The first ripe raspberries of the year.
That raspberry tasted so sweet. And it made me realize — harvest is the farmer’s reward. It’s what we work so hard for. It’s how we deliver our crop to all of you.
There’s this feeling that things with the season worked. That the plant somehow validated it had been taken care of — through its tasty fruit.
And the raspberries are just the first. Blueberries and currants come next, then peaches, then the big ones — grapes, apples, pumpkins. As the summer goes on, each little harvest entices us toward the next. Almost like the farm’s way of saying: keep your care going, keep your stewardship going. The big harvest is just around the corner.
And — stop tilling your garden.
Cheers!
