Farm Poem

Hope you are all enjoying the cotyledons of your seed starting efforts and even a few true leaves. Direct sowing of most everything else is just around the corner.

All this rain and flooding is reminding me a little too much of 2009's rotten growing season. We have not even been able to sow our peas yet because of the mud. I share this poem every year with the hope that by sharing it we can somehow create a reality where mud is welcome, and necessary, and just a natural moment before a bright, warm spring and hot, evenly moist,  summer.   Stay seedy! -Ken

Here's the amazing spring we use for irrigation on the farm.

Grace for Mud

Today I am grateful for mud.

In the next few weeks of covered cuffs, splattered  calves, and the unwanted impressions of my wet heels on the kitchen floor

I may curse the mud.

But I hope to remain grateful.

After three months of crusted winter and treacherous steps
I relish the return of sensuality to my foot falls.
The suctioning of sole to earth.

I will tuck in my cuffs and pull on high boots and kneel carefully
To preserve my muddy adorations of March.
I will build an altar to the mud.
A room for mud attached to my home.
For oozing boots and wet jeans and wiping down dog paws.
This room will be a place for mud rites.
Rituals of contact and cleansing and mutual thaw.

Savor the soft earth’s spring exhalations.
Inhale the frost’s final release.
These first smelling salts awaken sleeping seeds.

Mud is emergent.

We are born out of this muddy season into sustenance.
Say grace for your food to the mud.