Fields of Calendars by Meagan

Living and working on a farm has a way of making the passage of time and the changing of the seasons very, very apparent. For so many years of my life “summer” was undeniably defined by the school year, beginning and ending quite abruptly on some predetermined date. And even after being out of school the rest of the seasons seemed to arrive unnoticeably until the day I suddenly discovered myself standing knee-deep in a pile of leaves or snow. Here on the farm though, we plant seeds, they grow, they feed us, and then they die. These cycles are our livelihood. But for so many months we just plant more seeds and focus our attention on a different part of the land for a while. It is dangerously easy to not care if a certain crop is done for the spring or the season, because nowthis is ready and that is producing and there really is only so much zucchini a person should be expected to eat in a year.

There are days when it is absolutely sweltering, and has been for so long that it is beyond the scope of human capability to truly remember what winter feels like. The thought of January in Chicago is like a foggy dream or remembering a memory that isn't your own. And then the air changes. At first it is a strange and wonderful respite. But as each morning feels a bit more brisk and each evening arrives a little sooner than the last I can't help but find it bittersweet. We are planting the last of the plants and as I was sowing cover crop seed the other day it really hit me: this bed is all done 'til next year. Since we arrived in April the landscape around us has changed from barren earth to verdant green to now the sea of sandy-colored corn drying on the stalks, a sight so quintessentially autumn it tugs at the heartstrings. I know that soon enough tomato sandwiches and salads fresh from the yard will no longer be my lunch. But I also know that processing vegetables in ice-cold water outside in late October really makes a person look forward to spending time indoors for a while. Curled up with a book and a blankie, a winter squash roasting in the oven, these are things I've come to savor as well.

-meagan