We farmers are not resolute in January. We are not full of firm determination, despite the New Year and resolutions and even the temptation of 2020. Why, Twenty in TwentyTwenty is almost irresistible: we could easily make 20 noble farming vows for the year.
Luckily, we have just enough resolve not to make twenty vows. Instead, we sit by the woodstove. We read books. Sometimes we re-read books. We knit. Sometimes we tear out our knitting mistakes, and re-knit. We listen to music, and then we listen to it again. We talk about making good, leisurely meals, and then we make good, leisurely meals, and then we talk about the good, leisurely meals we just made.
We pore over seed catalogs, dreaming; we read poetry, also dreaming. We knock on doors, campaigning for a favored candidate; we pet the kitty, who campaigns for backrubs, warm houses, plenty of meals, veterinary care for all, and the occasional adventure of a mouse to catch.
My fellow farmer and I also visit the horses in the winter paddock, feeding them three times a day, and scratching their withers nearly as often. Then we visit the terrible tool area nearby, chock full of the growing season's panic of misplaced tools and busted irrigation parts and buckets full of half-finished projects. We visit, and then we decide to re-visit another day, when we feel more like tackling this project.
“Tomorrow, probably,” I say. “We'll feel like it, and it'll be a little warmer, and it'll be a perfect day for it.”
“Yeah, probably,” nods my fellow farmer. “Tomorrow. That's a great idea.”
Of course, this is not a resolution, but merely a musing on the beauty of this time of year for New Hampshire vegetable farmers. Gee, we really can put it off until tomorrow, and all that junk will be right there waiting patiently for us, instead of being overrun by weeds or bolting or gasping for lack of water. It is the delightful lack of urgency in the winter months that gives a farmer the chance to rest up a little.
Granted, one of us will work substitute shifts in a local co-op to tide the budget over, and one of us will plug away at clearing and digging the greenhouse beds for the spring, and both of us will wrestle with taxes and machinery fixes and long-term farm plans.
But we will also enjoy a walk in our snow-covered fields, and enjoy our daughter, home from college. We'll be able to visit relatives and friends, and sort through piles of paper and put away laundry and spend more time writing, in this farmer's case. In fact, I could spend several good, leisurely hours just writing my monthly article, replacing 20 vows for 2020 with many restful non-vows.
After a pleasant morning in my writing room, I come downstairs. “How's it going?” my fellow farmer asks.
“Well, I wrote my column, more or less,” I answer. “It's not much to do with sustainable farming, and not very funny, either. It's about our lack of resolve this time of year, and how we put off things until tomorrow.”
“Nice!” says my fellow, who is reading on the couch.
“It's kind of done. But I was thinking maybe I could make it better and funnier.”
“Tomorrow, maybe?” says my fellow, and I laugh. This time of year might not be good for resolutions and vows and accomplishments, but it sure is good for appreciating a fallow time on the farm, as well as appreciating my fallow fellow farmer. He is very good at making most everything, including work and rest, better and funnier.
Originally published in the Monadnock Shopper News, Jan 15 - Jan 21, 2020