We can chat about the peculiarities of neighborhood planting, but the real mentors of how things grow are the farmers whose vast fields of sustenance surround our suburban flower beds. Their charge to feed us all comes with great responsibility to prepare their fields for growing. Planting is anything but simple. There’s nothing glamorous about the practice of digging, turning, softening and enriching huge fields with tractors the size of a house; but insuring a nutritional foundation for each seedling must give them great satisfaction.
Many of us will enjoy perusing through farmers’ markets this summer. Strawberries oozing with mouth-watering flavor, leaf lettuces worthy of the finest salad bowls, and cherry tomatoes that taste like candy all await our pleasure. Before we know it, our signature Ohio sweet corn will overflow the roadside produce stands. Undoubtedly, the ripe crop of deliciousness did not happen without the painstaking drudge of the farmer on those chilled and rainy April days.
I can’t help but think of the life metaphor farmers teach us in their unassuming and widespread process of planting. Certainly, we teach our kids that only through hard work and dedication will they succeed in achieving life goals. A master chef creates culinary delights through the preparatory chopping by a sous chef. And an opera singer spends hours warming up her vocal cords so she can fill the spaces of a theater with her well-rehearsed song. But especially for those whose all-encompassing journey towards personal fruition feels daunting or fatiguing, I say just keep tilling along and caring for yourself the way a farmer cares for his crops. A bit of water and dose of sunshine go a long way.
My husband is proud of his Mercer County roots and his line of ancestry connecting him to the farmers who sewed before him. I admit it’s only through years of watching him that I’ve cultivated an appreciation for those who plant beauty we can all enjoy. Here’s a voice of appreciation for farmers, the unpretentious teachers of how to grow things, even ourselves. Now, I think I’ll grab a glass of iced tea and sit among the splendor of our red, variegated leafed begonias. Now I understand exactly why they were chosen.
Anne Marie Romer, of Dayton, is a regular contributor.
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