One of my favorite places to walk in the woods is Backbone State Park in Iowa. The good earth opens up, showing its bones in places — thus making it a difficult place for humans to till and plant. Often, when I walk there, I contemplate why it is that the land has to be this way for us to leave it alone enough so we can enjoy its natural beauty.
That’s one reason why I appreciate those who advocate for a more personal connection with the land. When we cultivate that connection, we find that we don’t need deep crevices or steep bluffs to have permission to let an area be what it is without extreme human alterations. There are ways we can live that will let the land be what it is just as there are ways to allow different people to be different — without a need for justification, alteration, or interference.
Stripped to the bones, looking for hope
Unfortunately, for many of us, the recent election in the United States feels like we have been stripped of our flesh and left in a land with no redeeming qualities. It feels as if we are standing under dark and troubled skies, with clouds boiling and a chill wind blowing. There is no shelter and there is no obvious place we can look to find our hope.
Perhaps we need places and times where the bare bones of our lives are exposed and we are forced to reassess who we are, where we should be, what we should be doing, and how we will get to the next thing. We have to seek out our purpose and hope. That search reminds us that not everything is a barren field. There are still places of wilderness and beauty — both in the world and in our lives. And there are still so many people who seek to do beautiful, wonderful, caring, and thoughtful things. But, like some of Iowa’s beautiful places — or those hidden places nestled in your own heart — you have to make some effort to find them, appreciate them and encourage them.
These people just are who they are. They don’t typically scream and shout for your attention. “Look at me! I did this nice, kind thing!” In fact, they often shy away from it — preferring to have the space and freedom to do more beautiful, wonderful, caring, and thoughtful things. And maybe, just maybe, there is some of that sort of person in each of us. Something beautiful. Somebody that truly cares. But it is hard to push aside all of the noisy, self-absorbed, shallow parts of the world around us that turn over most of the ground in our lives — ripping down the trees, draining all the wetlands and making the soil that is the foundation of our souls as barren as Iowa’s cornfields in November.
But, I believe the beauty and the wonder is still there. And I know we can encourage it to grow and become stronger.
The future of the land
It’s like the trees in the forest that have lost their leaves. They are skeletons of what they were just months ago and it is tempting to believe that everything is bleak, dark, and hopeless. The previous year’s growth has faded and the season of visible and obvious life is coming to a close. But, we know that even in winter, there is still life in the forest and a promise of a green future under the fallen leaves and snow.
I think I make a big deal out of beginnings and endings without really thinking about why they are worth that sort of attention. But the edges of our days at the farm often provide me with reminders that are worth pondering.
The setting and rising of the sun and moon offer us evidence of the beauty in transition. In the evening, the light plays off of the clouds and changes hues as the sun slowly sinks below the horizon. The shadows reach out to touch me and I wonder, and even worry, about what’s next. Even though there is uncertainty and, perhaps, feelings of loss as the old day leaves, there is still wonder. And joy. And blessings of the world as it moves from thing to thing.
As the sun rises, there is a new chance to do better. Another opportunity to improve. Another day where I can say words or make an apology I should have made. A new opportunity to do a task that should have been done. A new moment to learn new things and to recognize why people are hurting and to find compassionate ways to address that worry and pain. Redemption is always possible on the other side of times such as these.
I hope that we can all look for the beauty as we move ourselves from place to place, from thing to thing, and from this task to the next. Let’s work to find the promise we feel in our bones and then act on it to redeem ourselves by planting new seeds of change in times of transition.
The promise of the seeds we plant
In recent years, our farm has grown heirloom peppers for their seed. We start enough plants so we can select the plants that show the best traits for future generations of that variety of pepper. Then, we harvest the fruit from those plants, collect and clean the seeds, and carefully label and store them. Those same seeds can be used in the coming years to produce the crops we seek to grow.
I enjoy growing peppers about as much as any vegetable. The plants are attractive, they respond well to our care, and the rewards are fairly obvious – especially if you like peppers. I, unfortunately, cannot eat many peppers as my body has set limits on that. But that doesn’t stop me from doing (and enjoying) the work, even though most of the fruit will be consumed by others.
Two examples of peppers we have grown out for seed are a yellow bell named Quadrato asti Giallo and Napoleon Sweet, a red bell. The plants from the seeds we have selected produce fruit that we think would look good on any kitchen table and we appreciate the different tastes and textures each variety presents to us. Like most heirlooms, there is some diversity within the strain, but we don’t see that as a disadvantage.
As a contrast, the trend in commercial growing is to seek out hybrids that produce uniformly shaped, blocky, thick-walled peppers that store and ship well. Taste is almost an afterthought. But I believe that misses the joy of diversity in shape, texture, and taste that exists in the world. It’s out there! We just have to keep looking for it, appreciating it when we find it – and then nurturing it so others can experience it too.Then we can reject the commercial trend where every pepper is the same and every acre of land is made to look the same. Similarly, we can learn to accept that people don’t need to fit a mold or match our interests and ideals to be acceptable. It may not be easy. But the most worthwhile things require sincere effort.
You have the opportunity to be a caretaker that seeks to produce something beautiful, worthwhile and beneficial for the world around us. I wish you the best as you continue to select the seeds for your life that make your world — our world — a kinder, more understanding, and increasingly diverse place.
The bones, seeds and the land tell us the effort is worth it. And I believe you are worth that effort.
