This morning I am tasked with weeding a polytunnel of strawberry plants, a welcome change from potatoes and leeks. No squatting, hoeing, heavy lifting. Just me, comfortable enough on my knees, bum resting on my heels, gently pulling at the dry, crackly undergrowth. Pull, pile, crawl forward, repeat.
Mornings here are a quiet comprised of squawking crows, buzzing flies, speeding trucks, and Dan with the occasional “JAY-zus!” as he toils with the rotovator. And so I settle in to the sounds and the assignment. Pull, pile, crawl.
But as my body moves by rote, my mind starts running down tired, over-trodden paths. Ruminating over old flings and relationships, I can’t believe I said that. I wish he’d of said that. Scorekeeping my life, should I go to grad school? Will I have kids? Am I too late? What’s an unemployed gal in her 30s doing on a farm in Ireland? Overanalyzing long-ago interactions, is she mad at me, I could have handled that better, they should’ve checked in…
During a crawl forward my knee sinks into a sharp rock below the warm tarp, jerking me back into the moment. Here, in the tunnel, with the berries. On the adventure I planned out for months, that I won’t let myself be present to.
I take a deep inhale through the nose, wafting the sweet, dark smell of strawberry leaves, and exhale slowly out the mouth, 2, 3, 4. Start over.
Pulling, what a lovely plant, look at its sweet, perfect flowers. Piling, this will feed someone one day. Crawling, I am genuinely thankful for the soil that allows for strawberries. For this life. Much better.
Presence to the personhood of all living things (per Robin Wall Kimmerer) fosters appreciation for them, an appreciation that is a prelude to reverence. And this reverence frees the self from the burden of focus, righting its place in relationship with, and connected to, everything.
Realizing I’m no longer really alone in the tunnel, I bear witness to the simple grandeurs within it. The living soil under my nails, the thriving stinging nettle in the tent crevices, the aphids leaving their sticky trail along the flooring.
Beyond me, all of this beauty to ponder, to celebrate. I rest there on my knees, as if in prayer.
field work
“We’re really behind this season.” I hear this several times a day from Dan, my farm host and manager, and from Morgan, his farm hand, but have a feeling they say this every season. Not because of anything they’re doing wrong—these guys are hustlers: strategic, passionate, knowledgeable, and good-humored—but because to be a farmer is to always be really behind, no matter how much you prepare.
It seems there are almost no factors you can truly control for, but this week, we did what we could to set Dan and his farm up for a successful spring and summer. Here’s what that looked like:
🍓 Weeding desiccated leaves off of the strawberry plants. This means delicately lifting tufts of fragrant, green leaves to remove dead, brown stems below them, ultimately making room for fruit to come in.
🥔 Planting potatoes. I crouch (malasana, yogi squat) by Morgan’s feet. He kicks the shovel into the soil. With my left hand, I thrust a potato as low as it will go, and with my right hand, I sweep soil over the hole to cover it. Then with both hands, I drag a basket of 50+ potatoes up the row as we dig, bury, cover, refill the potato basket as needed, repeat.
🧅 Onion stewardship. In the polytunnels, I weeded, fertilized, and hoed rows of onions. In the outside plot, I planted at least a thousand (so far) other onions. They look like little garlic cloves, placed 4 inches apart, over and over. “Just fuck them into the ground,” Dan says, often. Aye, aye!
🥬 Transplanting kale. We had kale growing in the polytunnels over the winter, and my job was to remove them all as little plugs, then re-plant them outside. The crows seem to be enjoying them already (uh-oh!).
👩🏼🌾 Potting tomato, red kale, beet, leek, and pea shoot seeds. This requires shoveling out compost, scraping it and smoothing it into the table, filling plastic cups or trays with the stuff (Dan’s been using the same exact cups every year for 12 years, bless him), poking holes into each pod, and meticulously dropping one darling seed into every hole.
reverence
in which I share a quote, prayer, or meditation.
“The Irish language—which is ancient and beautiful—straddles two planes: the material and the mystical.
It embodies the spirit of this place. So when the English robbed us of our dialect, our namesakes, we lost more than just words. We lost a connection to the earth which inspired our language in the first place.” — Sharon, the farm’s co-host, over lunch my first day
devotion
in which I share lifestyle suggestions to better honor this earth.
🙏 Give thanks for your food: This needn’t be more than a pause, an acknowledgement, of gratitude. Hold the apple, admire it, give thanks for it.
🌱 Notice what you throw away: Globally, we discard 30% of the food we produce. Notice what you waste, make note of it, and buy less next time.
🌳 Compost your scraps: Food decomposes in a landfill, releasing methane gas. But when composted, creates nutrient-rich fertilizer that goes into our soils and foods. Place a bowl or bin on your counter to drop your scraps as you cook, and process in the backyard or at your local market.
🌏 Buy organic and local: Organic farmers are salt-of-the-earth stewards who produce our foods without toxic chemicals and pesticides. Look for certified organic labels at the grocery store or market and buy, buy, buy.
the craic
now listening: “Girl Feels Good” by FKA Twigs (true for girls and also the MVP Girl: Mother Earth); “Spirit” from Van Morrison’s Common One.
now podcasting: I’m officially a Manchán Magan-head (Manchán Fan? Manchán Maven? Magan Girl?) and am seeking out all his interviews. This one was really great. I also loved this interview on food waste reduction.
now reading: cranking out “Listen to the Land Speak” by Manchán Magan so I can lend it back to my host before leaving his farm. F A N T A S T I C.
now eating: a breakfast of hot muesli (plus a spoonful of crunchy peanut butter, bunch of walnuts, and sprinkle of Maldon); Irish lamb, y’all.
now wearing: mud and bug-stained overalls, Blundstones (no longer Brooklyn-hipster-chic as they’re caked in soil), my Bela Fleck and the Flecktones banjo/world peace hat (AKA my most valuable possession).
now missing: schedule autonomy (breakfast, farm, tea, farm, lunch, farm, break, dinner, bed); my bike; aligned phone schedules; staying out too late.
not missing: gluttonous overconsumption of news podcasts every morning; sitting at a laptop all day; Zoom calls; staying out too late.
thank you // go raibh maith agat
Each of us comes from a culture or lineage rooted in reverence for the earth, proven through our collective ancestors’ lifestyles, ceremonies, and world views. For many, that divine connection to the land was severed—by force, by choice, by both.
Confronting and mitigating the climate crisis will depend on a great remembering of that connection, and a reestablishment of traditions, practices, and spiritualities we can employ to honor it.
I appreciate you working to remember. If anything in this newsletter resonates with you, let me know in the comments, or share with someone you love.
Sheila
sheil, you are so talented and inspiring. You have such a beautiful soul and I love following along with these posts because it makes me feel like I’m there with you. Keep crushing it! We love you!
What a fantastic way for me to end my day! Reading about your experience transports me to your farm and to your labors while asking me to be more present as well. So proud of you and how you capture this journey!