Jun 10, 20204 min read

The Art of Letting Go {Week 4 CSA}

Updated: Jun 23, 2020

We began farming at nearly the exact moment we became parents. Luckily, we didn't know at the time just how crazy we were.

It turns out, both roles benefit from a healthy dose of naive optimism. And fortunately, we tend to have plenty of it. We were faced with pivotal choices, steep price tags, and a baby that, surprisingly, didn't want to spend all day out on the farm while mom and dad built it from scratch. Our roles in each new adventure required complete dedication and a reluctant separation—Zach taking the helm of building the farm from the ground up and myself, (Kasey) forging a path for our new family by way of the humbling lessons of motherhood.

What's interesting is how both paths ultimately gave us a crash course in the same core teaching: Surrender, or, as we like to call it, The Art of Letting Go. Despite strong intentions, the land reminds a farmer who's in charge just about as fast as a fussy baby relays the same to mom or dad. Our efforts are futile in the face of the motions of nature—be it the processes beneath our feet or the impulses driving tiny (but loud) nonverbal commands. While we resisted this at first, mourning our tightly-held sense of autonomy and personal authority, we eventually acquiesced and relaxed into our new positions. New identities, even. We gradually shifted away from the doers we'd long been attached to being and grew (matured even?) into the listeners and, eventually, servants we needed to be.

Farming and parenting are both much easier this way. Seeing ourselves as serving the land reframes our perspective when a crop fails or a new problem arises. It prompts us to ask more questions about what needs better support, what system is strained, and how we can help it with inquisitive instead of indignant minds. Perhaps most important is how it replaces our sense of entitlement with a humbled gratitude for the fruits of our labors.

And while some might scoff at the idea of embodying a servant mindset as a parent, it'd be hard to deny that all we're compelled to do for our kids isn't coming from a place of pure love and dedication to them. Semantics aside, parents offer an immense amount of their energy and action to the well-being, happiness, and futures of their children. For us, this is servitude to love, of which there is no higher path.

This past weekend, our practice of The Art of Letting Go was thoroughly tested. After several weeks of sweaty highs and summer-like lows (hovering above 50 degrees at night)—wherein we planted out the entire farm and all of the summer crops—we faced a forecasted 28 degree night on Sunday. Low enough to wipe out more than 75 percent of what we'd painstakingly seeded, nurtured in our propagation house for weeks (some for months), and spent countless hours prepping beds and planting for. Low enough to wipe out our entire season.

So, we did what any other practical high country farmers would do: we took a deep breath and sent out desperate texts to all of our farmer friends to come help us put gigantic silage tarps over nearly the entire farm. Our goal was to help insulate the crops with the warmth from the soil (which fortunately still reflected the long string of hot days and warm nights) by trapping that heat under the thick 100' x 40' tarps. A team of 8 of us worked through a strange blend of early June sunshine and hail to secure them from the stormy winds. And then we hoped and prayed for the best. Unfortunately, The Art of Letting Go hasn't fully evolved into The Art of Getting Sleep over here, but we're a work in progress.

Silage tarps going down to brace for the freeze

Zach was the first one out in the morning and came back in gleaming. Our most sensitive crops outdoors had made it through, only slightly scathed by the 22 degree night. Yes, TEN degrees below freezing in June! While not entirely out of the woods yet (or ever, really), we were overwhelmed with gratitude for our farmer friends who helped us tarp it all. And who came back that morning to help us pull those tarps back up.

They say it takes a village to raise a child, and we'd agree wholeheartedly. It takes a village to farm as well, and as evidenced by you, our dear reader, a whole community to allow that farm to survive and thrive. So, now you know why we're so grateful to serve you, and may we all be more connected to the land and each other for it.

These gigantic silage tarps move like the ocean in our high country winds. It takes at least 6 people to easily move them (and not fly away!) and they turned out to be our saving grace when June gave us a 22 degree night!