I knew that it was supposed to rain. I planned for it, dressing to get soaked, although somehow that planning didn’t extend to bringing a rain jacket. It was fine, it was warm out.
The farm was different this time. A hazy mist was settled around the hills in the distance, the sun was doing a decent job of hiding behind the clouds, and the sounds were different.
It was nice to be there early, I was alone in the patches for a good hour or two. I got to work weeding, just thinking or humming for entertainment when things were slow. Hands, legs, arms, and clothes all quickly bore the signs of being in the dirt. Very soon, it started to rain, as it had been threatening to for hours. Rain is wonderful.
Lessons that we take from things we can’t control, like the weather, are very strong in my experience. A brief background: I had the good fortune this summer to spend thirty days in Yukon Territory, Canada, backpacking and wilderness canoeing. I think my few hours on the farm that day were the first since that trip that I was out in the rain for any extended period of time. It was a much different experience at Fair Weather. I loved the trip I was on, but your mentality with weather changes is very different when you know you can’t just go inside to dry off at the end of the day. I knew part of the fun of the farm was because I had dry clothes and a house to go back to when I was finished. I didn’t have to worry that I was getting too cold, or my things were soaked. There were many lessons I took away from the trip, some of which I’m sure I haven’t even realized yet, but one was that “man is not the center of nature”; however much we might think we are (pg.165). And another is definitely an appreciation for how our surroundings, mentality, and situation affect our interaction with nature. In other words, whether we dance in a patch of vegetables, throw our hood up and pray for the rain to subside sometime before we’re drenched, or to look around and just laugh.
Paul Errington talked about nature and marshes, when quoted in Rome’s book, saying, “lessons and beauties of the skies, of the seas, of the mountains, and of the other places remaining where man can still reflect upon lessons and beauties that are not of human making” (pg.159). Now the farm isn’t exactly wild – it is something of our making – but it is a great deal closer to nature than we get in Newark. As such, I took the opportunity to enjoy the smell, the feel, and the effect of the rain on the land. It wasn’t a hindrance to the work; on the contrary, I had the most fun when it was raining. Each time a period of rain stopped, I wished it could have continued for just a bit longer. It was such a nice change from the heat of the previous few days.
It was interesting to realize what the rain meant on the trail versus on the farm – for plants and people. In both places, the rain is good for the plants. On the trail, the rain was fine, unless it continued for hours. Then it was just making our bodies and minds a little harder to warm up at the end of the day. For the farm, especially at the end of a particularly hot summer, it’s a welcome relief as watering tasks are fewer.
By the end of my time there, another student and Nancy were working with me on a specific plot of land. Both hiking and farming seem to cultivate sharing of personal experiences, hopes, and ideas. It’s one of the things I like most about both activities – that if you want, you can get to know people. We talked about classes, plants, how the farm is managed. Nancy’s advice that morning was that nothing is certain. Not the rain, so Nancy said she waters sparingly to make the plants roots grow stronger. And not the plans we make for after college, which I took to mean that we should think openly about what comes – a good mentality to have in town and in the backcountry.