Reflections of the Season
The fall garden has always been a strange place for me. The mix of feelings that wash over me as I take daily walks at the Edge of Liberty to destress after my morning work meetings is sometimes overwhelming.
I am in awe of nature and how it has reacted to the things we do here. A pair of sandhill cranes have claimed the newly dug garlic field - in love with the wheat grass we over-seeded there as a cover crop - and have claimed the pond as their very own. The baby tadpoles that made the pond bubble all spring have grown into full-sized frogs and are quite vocal about their displeasure at being disturbed from their naps in the tall grass. A fox has claimed the bonfire circle as her own having found a lovely overwintering spot among the piles of brush. Butterflies are doing their best at extracting the last bits of nectar from the fennel flowers before they go to seed after having emerged from the milk thistle nearby. The killdeer are back and making noise, scoping out which part of our property they will use as a nesting ground again next spring. Hawks are circling overhead keeping watch over the community garden keeping it clear of bunnies who desperately want the fall crops planted there.
I am grateful for the people who have helped change this abandoned farm into a beautiful place to gather and reflect. I see their hands and hearts and hear their words everywhere. The bright yellow flowers on our sunchokes that came from the people at NWI Permaculture brighten our market garden as the squash plants nearby die back to expose their orange and green fruits. The cool season crop seeds donated to our community gardeners from the Porter County Master Gardeners are still flourishing in the plots that have not yet been cleared and are bright patches of life in the garden. I think of all the new friends we've made amongst our gardeners, and wonder at their journey from novice to seasoned veteran through this challenging season that's drawing to a close. I think of all the people who've come through here for our events this past year, and hope they come back to see the beauty of the fall colors and partake of our surprisingly bountiful harvest at our last Open Farm event of the year.
As I walk, I see so much work yet to be done harvesting and putting our gardens to bed for the winter and I feel both overwhelming despair at ever getting it all done before the snows and energized joy at knowing that my husband and I share such passion for improving the soil and feeding our community that we will prevail together.
As I'm writing these thoughts and reflections of this season that's coming to a close, I'm reminded that less than a year ago I wrote a similar post that contained my dreams for the future of the Edge of Liberty. I just stopped to re-read it, and I'm incredulous that we've come this far so fast. At first I thought, I have no idea how we did it, but that thought was fleeting as it's pretty clear. While I'm the dreamer, schemer, planner, and planter, it was the daily hard work and commitment of the man I took a chance on meeting for a drink fifteen years ago today that made it happen. It is his vision that has shaped the landscape and his hands that forged the paths through it and his strength that protected it from wildlife and kept it watered through the drought.
That guy I met 15 years ago and that place we walked through together five years ago - wild, untamed beauty that few could see - I loved them both at first sight - and love them more every day. I hope to love them and watch them grow together for many more seasons.