Sunup to Sundown, and Still Behind
The garden forever feels half-finished.
In this bed, the grass, thistle, and dandelions were so thick that cardboard and much will be placed here this year, and this 16 foot bed will be out of rotation for the season.
Over-winter mulch in the other two beds has kept all of the weeds at bay, and further cement the importance of mulching for me.
Most teachers spend Spring Break resting, taking long-awaited vacations, sleeping in, or curling up with a good book in the sunshine.
But my Spring Breaks have always looked a little different.
The weather begins to turn, and the sun filters softly through the forest understory. And on the farm, the work never ends, grueling and unrelenting. A growing list of half-finished projects calls out for attention.
Spring Break becomes a stretch of long, uninterrupted days, a chance to push forward the work that winter once slowed. And often, I find myself pushing long after my muscles beg for rest. The sun somehow finds my face through the canopy, leaving it warm and burned, while my arms and legs bear the marks of the infamous Himalayan blackberry, my arch nemesis.
In the stillness of evening, as the last streaks of orange slip behind the green and the shadows settle into dusk, I sometimes wish for rest. For a vacation. For the luxury of sleeping in.
But deep down, I know that isn’t who I am.
I am a farmer.
I work from sunup to sundown, and still, I fall behind. That’s the nature of this life. My muscles tremble with effort I didn’t know I had left to give, and by nightfall, they stiffen and ache as I finally lay down. I know that when morning comes, soreness fully set in, it will be time to rise and do it all again.
This spring, I am building the infrastructure to bring lambs home this summer. That goal, that why, is what pushes me forward on the days I would rather stay in bed. Without it, the dreams in my heart risk staying just that, dreams.
Monday, the back garden received fresh loads of bark as that space continues to grow alongside me.
Tuesday, the last stretch of property line was cleared.
Wednesday, the replacement netting for the ducks was finished (watch for this on YouTube soon).
Thursday, the first t-posts of an 1,800-foot fence were driven into the ground by hand, with Friday looking much the same.
Every day of Spring Break is hard, maybe even more than that. But each day also feels like a step forward. A quiet checkmark toward something bigger.
And in every break from school, where I get to be just a farmer, my body may drain of energy, but my heart fills to overflowing.