Seasons on a farm

We've turned the corner to autumn, as you might have noticed by the slight color changing of a few leaves, the blissfully cooler nights, or maybe the the dramatic influx of pumpkin spice everything flooding the advertising space around us--nevermind the first winter squash and salad mix in the CSA shares and the obvious decline of tomatoes.

It's funny how the onset of September evokes such images of autumn and change for so many of us--back to school, the end of carefree summer, the beginning of sweater weather; the time to pick apples, resume baking, and cook hearty meals rich with winter squash. Even though astronomical fall begins three whole weeks from now on the 22nd at the equinox, perhaps our sociological Fall begins this weekend, at Labor Day.

But there's no conflict in that; even though spring, summer, fall, and winter seem integral to our understanding of yearly time, even though they're based on something as scientific as the celestial equinox/solstice cycle, our culture pretty much just made them up. In ancient Japan the year was divided into 24 seasonal stages and 72 microseasons, each lasting a few days, with names like, "mist starts to linger," "wild geese fly north," "first lotus blossoms," and "deer shed antlers." The Cree and Hindu calendars each recognize six seasons; Thai divide the year into three seasons. Science writer Ferris Jabr takes a big-picture view: “If we zoom way out, we can see certain global rhythms: the ebb and flow of light; the bloom and wither of plants; the expansion and retreat of ice. Earth has a million seasons, or just one, depending on your perspective." Jabr even suggests, what if we imagined seasons from the perspective of creatures other than ourselves?

Popular supposition might be that we farmers, being outside all the time, would see the shifts between the four seasons more keenly than most. However, the truth is just the opposite: we're zoomed in so close that we see such detail as to obscure the lines between the "four seasons,” leading us to mark time in the year based on small changes rather than quarter-year shifts. The culturally assigned seasonal categories are fairly irrelevant in our day-to-day experience of farm life; we have our own markers in the farm year, no doubt invisible and meaningless to others (just as you may have, in your own lives). Our year begins with the Groovy Bird singing “GROOvy GROOvy GROOvy” in April as we plant onions, then when it gets hot the June Bugs arrive, dozens of them buzzing slowly about. In Late July, around brassica-planting time, the Curious Wasps swarm low to the ground circling circling circling, never threatening, just curious to see what's going on, and then, now, we hear the first of many geese honking through at dusk as they look for a place to spend the night on their way South.

Seasons allow us to know not only where we are, but what's coming next. Those who have been with the CSA for a while may mark time in the CSA year, knowing that the season of cucumbers, squash, and tomatoes declines and then gives way to the season of storage roots and greens, culinary seasons eliding one to the next without clear division--except to notice in retrospect that we no longer see the vegetables we used to, the food once rare and fresh now our common staple, letting us know that next season is on the way.