Saturday hummingbirds
An arc of water missed my bag (computer, phone, multiple notebooks, to do lists) by inches. I flipped the flap over the misted interior and smiled under my cap as I hastily moved my belongings away from any obvious plants.
She didn't speak much english. She had walked by the farm with her family a few days before and after lots of gestures and smiles and fragmented sentences, it was clear she wanted to help. We told her about volunteer hours on Saturday afternoons and went back to packing up bags of produce for our CSA members.
It was a quiet afternoon until my sole volunteer showed up. So she had understood us! I searched around for something for her to do that required little explanation. Amending a bed? Probably not. Planting starts? With my assistance, sure. Watering? Most of the beds have been watered, but...
I filled a watering can and gave it to her, showing her some Scarlet Runner beans surrounding our cob-benched rotunda. After liberally dousing the tendrils running up the curving poles, she decided that a watering can was not for her. Why sprinkle when you can soak? She took up the hose and let her rip. Butterflies and hummingbirds evacuated the rotunda as jets of water erupted from the bright yellow nozzle in her life-lined hands. She dragged the hose around lavender bushes and sunflowers. I was thankful there were few newly seeded beds in the immediate area but knew that that is why we are here- to let people come and water and weed and plant and be among the brassicas and butterflies. They might not do everything right (and hey, what professional farmer does everything right either?), but just coming to the farm and wanting to help is enough to make me smile. Even if a few seedlings get washed away in the process.
As quickly as she had appeared and sprung into action, she just as quickly coiled up the hose and motioned she needed to go meet her husband but said she'd be back next week. I gave her a ripe tomato and she bowed in thanks, cradling the blushing red gift in her hands as she shuffled down the slope to the concrete below.
The farm was quiet again save for the rustling of the corn and almost undetectable buzz of hummingbird wings. The leaves bore crystal droplets strewn about by another person who wants to help, another person who cares about food, another person moving through this life and taking the time (even if just a few minutes) to connect with the dirt and butterflies and tomatoes.
She didn't speak much english. She had walked by the farm with her family a few days before and after lots of gestures and smiles and fragmented sentences, it was clear she wanted to help. We told her about volunteer hours on Saturday afternoons and went back to packing up bags of produce for our CSA members.
It was a quiet afternoon until my sole volunteer showed up. So she had understood us! I searched around for something for her to do that required little explanation. Amending a bed? Probably not. Planting starts? With my assistance, sure. Watering? Most of the beds have been watered, but...
I filled a watering can and gave it to her, showing her some Scarlet Runner beans surrounding our cob-benched rotunda. After liberally dousing the tendrils running up the curving poles, she decided that a watering can was not for her. Why sprinkle when you can soak? She took up the hose and let her rip. Butterflies and hummingbirds evacuated the rotunda as jets of water erupted from the bright yellow nozzle in her life-lined hands. She dragged the hose around lavender bushes and sunflowers. I was thankful there were few newly seeded beds in the immediate area but knew that that is why we are here- to let people come and water and weed and plant and be among the brassicas and butterflies. They might not do everything right (and hey, what professional farmer does everything right either?), but just coming to the farm and wanting to help is enough to make me smile. Even if a few seedlings get washed away in the process.
As quickly as she had appeared and sprung into action, she just as quickly coiled up the hose and motioned she needed to go meet her husband but said she'd be back next week. I gave her a ripe tomato and she bowed in thanks, cradling the blushing red gift in her hands as she shuffled down the slope to the concrete below.
The farm was quiet again save for the rustling of the corn and almost undetectable buzz of hummingbird wings. The leaves bore crystal droplets strewn about by another person who wants to help, another person who cares about food, another person moving through this life and taking the time (even if just a few minutes) to connect with the dirt and butterflies and tomatoes.
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