The Harvest

This week we acquired a new farmhand. I'm going to call him Hank. I'm actually not sure if he CHOSE to come here or was sent by well meaning family. There are lots of good reasons to send a seventeen year old city kid to the farm. I started noticing them pretty quickly. We were out in the squash patch harvesting acorn squash and a brewing late afternoon thunderstorm was fueling my box filling pace. I quickly became aware that I was filling two boxes for every one box that my lanky teenage harvest partner was filling. Now I'd like to be able to say with a swagger that at age fifty one I can outdo a strapping seventeen year old in the squash patch. But I'll just be straight up and say that in reality he was just greener than green. I don't even think that he noticed the glowering clouds much less put clouds and thunder together to equal storm arriving soon. I tried to help him understand the concept but instead of translating into increased speed it only provided him with fascinating conversation material.

Each time Aimee came roaring down the row in the muddy green Gator to pick up another load of bulging bushel boxes he found new excuses for diversion. "Hey Aimee, maybe I should ride back to the warehouse with you to help unload the boxes". "Hey Aimee if you're tired of driving I can drive for you"

Suddenly on one of her fly bys, she dropped off Jonathan. He hit the ground running - literally. As I watched him fill up boxes on the run, take flying leaps over the rows to rescue left behind squash, and dive under the leaves as he flew by to sleuth out elusive squash I was amazed. And suddenly my mind shifted gears and backed up 10 months to the day Jonathan had arrived.

He showed up with smooth white hands, perfect fingernails, a pale face, and an insatiable appetite for socializing and laughter. I couldn't for anything figure out how he could make it on a farm. Back then, the mere thought of him becoming invaluable would've made my eyes roll. It seemed like every job I gave him took way longer than I thought it should. It seemed like his mouth moved faster than his four limbs combined. He got depressed if he had to do solitary tasks and when he was doing groupy tasks his hands usually stopped so that his mouth could function at top speed. He'd easily kill baby plants by forgetting to water them or absently overwatering them and he regularly did tasks opposite to the instructions just because he forgot or got distracted. A farming career for him seemed like a guaranteed crop failure.

So now as I hurried to catch up to him enough to at least breathe in some of the dust in the wake of his efficient productivity, I began to ponder. Why did he seem like a such a natural leader as he hurried us along by his example and his energetic comments? Clearly today he is invaluable to our farm. What had suddenly happened? Or was it sudden?

Farming changes you. While tough callouses form on your hands they melt off your spirit making you see miracles in baby lettuce plants and awakening in your heart a deep seated longing to cooperate with the Creator in this process called growing - growing good food for people - real people.

As the sun gradually gives your skin that ruddy look that city slickers call a farmer's tan your instincts get ripened and deepened to pay attention to subtle things that city slickers don't even notice like the difference between a melon aphid and a potato aphid.

While you learn the art of painstakingly raking a raised growing bed smooth you unlearn expectations for instant results.
And just as the germinating seed teaches you patience the seemingly suddenly ripe crop of orange honeydew - that everyone is waiting for - on a day that was already full to the brim with harvesting and planting, weeding and watering - pushes you beyond what you thought were your physical limits to get it harvested at its peak and sent out to the people who are counting on you for food - real food.

The longer you farm and the more mis-steps you experience the more indelible becomes the urgency of timing. There's a right time to seed, to water, to weed, to harvest, and just as imporant is the time to deliver. The sense of urgency at each stage seers itself into a farmer's instincts making him count his steps and minutes as if they were gold. And gold they truly are. The wisest man who ever lived said that, "The king himself is served by the field" Ecc 5:9

As I pondered I realized that while Jonathan thought he was just planting, weeding, watering, tending, and harvesting crops those very crops were working a slow but steady transformation of him. An abundant harvest was happening. His fields were serving him.

Suddenly my thoughts were yanked back to the present. Hank was actually running! We were done and as he loped by me and plunked himself down on the tail of the Gator so he could catch a ride home - he waved his arms around regaling us with his tales of the afternoon. His beaming ear to ear grin reminded me that another harvest will be coming; just be patient.



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