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In nature’s rhythm Living on a farm puts us in step with the rhythm of the seasons. The year begins in spring, regardless of what the calendar says. We hear the first peepers down by the creek. The sun strengthens, the ground warms. It’s time to plant. Then come the long, hot days of summer. The crops grow. We fight with the bugs, the blight and the raccoons over who will get the most good out of the garden this year. In the evenings we sit on the porch, listening at first to whippoorwills and then a hoot owl. And then one day we see a tinge of red in the sumac, and we feel or smell or just know something different is in the air. Fall. As if we didn’t see it coming, there is suddenly just too much to do—harvesting, canning, freezing, chopping wood. Days grow shorter and shadows longer as we scurry around like squirrels preparing for the inevitable. Winter. It arrives always just before we are quite ready, but always after we are quite exhausted. It offers us rest. We light a fire, sit beside its warmth with a seed catalog in hand and dream of next spring. As we move through the year on the farm, there is always enough variety to keep us interested but enough predictability to keep us sane. Debra Intemann |
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