There's been a lot of birthdays in my life lately (my own included). This abundance of celebration has brought on an equally abundant presence of reflection - among friends and internally. A common question that has been asked consistently over the past month is some version of: what aspects of (this life, this friend, this place) are you most grateful for? Listening to everyone's answers, tuning into some the deeper intentions beyond the words - I'm left with a wonderment in how much is left unspoken among friends, unacknowledged between families, and (mis)understood about our relationship to the land we tend. I'm not here to write a thesis on the history of the world so I'll focus on the latter as an adopted transplant onto farm land I don't own but have tended for close to fifteen years.
A customer left a review online about their experience at the farm during our digging season last year and thanked "the owner" for their informative support. The only person they interacted with was me (not the owner). This simple mistake got me thinking though - what has shifted in my time here that I am reflecting that level of care out to our customers? When did growing iris move from a seasonal job to a more complete embodiment of caretaker, of steward, of "owner" of Long's Gardens. (I use owner in quotes here because I am neither the owner of the land in the legal sense nor do I truly believe in land ownership in the Western sense but that's for another day) I can't pinpoint an exact shift, but interestingly enough the above interaction happened when I was largely, in a way, moving on. I had just finished a graduate degree in Food Systems at CU Boulder and the so-called next chapter was calling me. If I'm being honest, I was actually probably in a pretty miserable place because job offers weren't being hurled in my direction and the interviews I did get generally stuck to the same rejection principle: I needed to be less tied to the land in the work I pursued with said Masters degree. If it isn't obvious, I vehemently disagree with that sentiment and my relationship to the land is the way I source the most important things in my life. The land you all know as Long's Gardens is a respite from the urban surroundings for almost the entirety of our customer base and supporters. They breathe deeper on our property, nestled in the openness of our farm within the city. For me, and a few others, the land isn't a break from everything else but rather the lens through which we see everything else. (To clarify, not everyone has the opportunity to work on the land and may not even want to. However Long's Gardens suits you - plant nursery, urban oasis, open space, etc. - is just fine. The draw of many open spaces in our increasingly crammed world is, in fact, a needed break. For those of us that are lucky enough to live and work in that open space, there's an accompanying perspective shift)
How does tending to this place frame everything I do and what are the shifts that have occurred recently to invite a new sense of this place that I've known, but perhaps not fully understood for such an extended time-frame?
Right now, the wind is whipping across our farm, blowing trash, snapping branches, keeping people wobbled while they walk, but not scouring our soil. Our cover-cropping efforts of last fall (and several seasons now) are doing their job. Although barely an inch tall in some places, their roots are anchored and our soil is not careening through the air towards Growing Gardens, towards Valmont Bike Park, towards Erie, and beyond. We're protecting our most valuable asset - within it an entire ecosystem of microbiology but also the history of everything before, all that we've grown and cycled through the seasons, made new again. All of this, moving to replenish the land ahead of our 117th season... The next entry in these reflections will be in our Summer Seasonal newsletter, sometime in July. Thanks for reading and we'll see you in the fields, hopefully soon! Randy Pistacchio
Director of Farm Stewardship |
