It feels like this year has been a year of transition in so many ways. I have always been a planner and always had a plan. Since I was about 8 or 9 years old, I have been planning my future and always taking steps to make the next thing possible, but this year, I changed–or at least am in the process of changing–and I am not sure at all what the next thing is. I think I’m just going to have to learn to live in a space of uncertainty. Maybe, in some ways, we all are.
In our years of homesteading, we thought we had learned pretty well how to adapt to climate change. We learned to expect unusual heat and drought, but this year gave us a summer of cold rain. Everything in the garden was stunted for months. Some things rotted in the ground. But we persisted. After carrot seeds were washed away by rain in our first planting and then carrot seedlings were eaten by slugs in other plantings, we planted them a total of four times and got the best crop of carrots we ever had. We learned a new rule: plant carrots late because a hard frost makes them better. Of course, this year, Nature also emphasized that we will never know when that first frost will come. This year, it came Halloween night. The “usual” is mid September.
And, while we were dealing with the cold and wet, the rest of the world was dealing with a heat like no other. In 2023, it seemed that most everyone came to understand that we are dealing with climate change, that it’s coming faster and harder than most of us thought, and that our world leaders are willing to do little more than put band-aids on the problem. At the Climate Change Convention in Dubai in December, a record number of lobbyists from fossil fuel industries were in attendance, and while world leaders reached some consensus about the problems associated with climate change and the need to reduce fossil fuels, few specific plans were made. The scientists I know were devastated by the amazing level of inaction given the year our planet had just had. I even read one article written by a climate scientist that said it’s time to just start trying to deal with this mentally in whatever way we can because we are in for trying times.
I realize this is not the best thing to read on the last day of the year, but maybe there is good in understanding this reality. Humans are smart and adaptive. It’s just time to be as smart and adaptive as we possibly can. The humans in charge aren’t going to help us. We are going to have to be more self sufficient and help each other, and the latter is maybe one of the most important lessons I came to understand this year. I don’t know what that looks like. I don’t know for sure how we are supposed to help each other, but I am hopeful we will figure it out.
In further uncertainty, this year, I had a bit of a health scare. In March, after watching some trauma in a darn television program, my body forced me to come to terms with some trauma from my past–that stuff you block out and hope it goes away can sometimes rear it’s ugly head, I guess. For 8 days, I had a migraine so severe I could barely open my eyes, and I couldn’t move my neck and right shoulder. During those days, especially toward the end when I wondered how long this pain might go on, I started making promises to myself to change my life, to deal with my trauma and to make changes in my life to cut down on stress. I made a promise to myself to treasure time with my loved ones more.
It was during that time that I decided I was going to have to let go of Farmer-ish journal, at least for now. I have this hope that, one day, the journal will come back, and in the mean time, I plan to keep blogging and to find a way to share farming and nature writing from others. I just don’t know what that looks like yet. Not having a plan is pretty scary to me, but I am working hard to learn to go with the flow more. Maybe that’s kind of an oxymoron though, isn’t it? How does one “work hard” to “go with the flow”? We’ll see if I can figure it out.
Right now, finding my flow seems especially challenging because I feel two flows–one toward a path of greater self sufficiency because I see challenging times ahead and another toward my son’s hopes and dreams as a musician. At times, these two paths conflict so much that I am not sure which direction to go. I have to believe that balance and progress is possible in both areas, however, because this feels like my path. I do have to admit though that there is a lot I just don’t know about how to move forward, so I am also trying to learn to just be still and listen to the universe more.
In all of it, 2023 was a fantastic year. We got the best carrots ever, as I mentioned before, but there were many other wonderful experiences and moments of profound learning. I learned how to make rhubarb jelly and to better understand how my brothers deal with their trauma. I learned to trust my son’s skills as both a cellist and a professional in the world when I watched him walk in for the first day of his first job playing in an orchestra pit for a musical. I became closer to Ron and came to more deeply understand him for the treasure he is. I learned that, when it comes to selling organic, humanely-raised eggs, there is nothing to do but take a loss and be thankful chicken poop makes great garden compost. I learned that, sometimes, you just get really lucky when it comes to hatching baby chicks. I still can’t believe all six of Petty’s babies were girls!
I kept my resolution to learn the cello. I am still learning and taking lessons and making progress. I met an amazing chicken lady who lives in Maine but is originally from Costa Rica, and I met a bee whisperer who lives in Maine but is originally from Poland. The last time we went and stocked up on honey, we had a fantastic conversation about observing chickens and bees and what we can learn from them. When Ron and I were leaving, the bee whisperer gave me a hug that I understood to be a hug that said “thank you for understanding me.” I did my best to hug back with a hug that said, “no, thank you. It’s hard to find my people.”
I made homemade vanilla. I made my daughter a beautiful quilt. I learned how to can pears. I learned how to make apple butter. I tried to grow into a better human. It’s been a good year on our little homestead, despite some challenges. It’s been a good year of life, despite some challenges.
That’s how life is though, isn’t it? The challenges and uncertainties are a part of being alive. Finding joy in the process is a part of learning to thrive.
I wish you a beautiful New Year’s Eve and a Happy New Year. Today, Ron and I celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary. He got me a gift for the first time in 14 years. I didn’t get him anything, so I am going to make some special bread.
photo credit: Annie Spratt, Unsplash
Thank you for sharing your honest reflections. That is what makes your blog so readable. You are able to confide your deepest thoughts to your readers who are really strangers in one sense but kindred spirits in another. Keep writing. You are doing enough. That old serenity prayer comes to mind ~
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.”
Happy New Year to you and your family
Thank you for sharing your struggles and joys with such heartfelt words, Crystal. I’ve enjoyed your posts so much. And I’m reading the beautiful poetry anthology in my writing group; we read a poem to set the tone and intention for our writing, and often a prompt comes from it as well. Best wishes for the new year–Rochelle
Rochelle, you have no idea how happy I am to read this. I have been trying to listen to the universe about what’s next for me in publishing now that I am stepping back from the journal because I still want to share people’s beautiful writing in some way. Your comment has my wheels turning. Thank you!