Eric learns why they say the early bird gets the worm, and why the patient bird gets the fruit.
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Eric learns why they say the early bird gets the worm, and why the patient bird gets the fruit.
Listen to this Podcast Now
Follow this link to Sign Up for the Farm Talk Podcast series.
One of the pleasures of building this garden is the way others can get involved. There’s something delightful about connecting over plants, the way someone remarks about the height of the beanstalk, or else sees a cucumber plant for the first time, or else the excitement in eating a fresh cherry tomato. It’s a simple gift to be able to offer, and so fulfilling when others come to share.
Of course, there’s always something to do in a garden, whether it’s weeding or watering, planting or harvesting. As a caretaker, I’m responsible for ensuring basic health, and for me, much of that work is a pleasure (as long as I’m not trying to squeeze it all in). But best of all is when I can put someone else to work, in belief that all visitors are capable of lending a hand, and most seem eager to do so.
For myself, I know I’ve screwed up a number of times; breaking a branch while tying up a tomato plant, or mistakenly uprooting a cabbage when it was the romaine that was set to be pulled out. And I see that hesitation in the face of my friends, wanting to get it right, being unsure that they know the best way to go.
The remarkable thing about the garden is that it’s absolutely forgiving. So what that the branch broke, others will grow. Oh well that the cabbage is done, it’s more room for the turnip seeds.
That’s why I like to think of this as a Learning Garden. It takes the pressure off from what’s ‘supposed’ to happen. There’s ease in being amateur, self-taught and inexperienced. It’s understood that things won’t work out as expected. It’s challenging the impulse to seek the support of an expert. And so for me, this little backyard grove is suggesting that we’re more capable than we might have otherwise realized.
One decision I’ve been struggling with is whether to keep my commitment to go on a week-long canoe trip with some friends two weeks from now.
For me, going into the backcountry is one of the pleasures life has to offer, and the chance to do it with this particular group seems especially pleasing. However, the timing is conflicted with my efforts this summer to put in place the foundations of the business I want to establish.
A week away from my desk is a luxury I just can’t afford.
There’s money that needs to be made, and if I’m going to being connecting with potential Learning Coach clients, then I need to be in the market towards the end of the month. And if I’m going to be in the market towards the end of the month, then the web site, brochures and business cards need to be in place by then. And when clients look at these materials, they’ll want to see that this is an in-process program, rather than something about to happen. So all that translates to work that starts happening to day and continues on each day forward.
The realities of being a small-business owner, and one just setting out on the journey, occur to me in passing waves. Each wave brings with it a new dawn of opportunity, responsibility, and to-do lists. My experience seems to one of overwhelm, which leads to stagnation, and when I’m eventually able to push through those experiences, I’m able to take a step in the forward direction.
Overwhelm, stagnate, step. That’s the rhythm of my days.
Except it’s almost impossible to maintain life balance when the only priority is the foundation for this small business; my diet, exercise habits and time with family and friends are the priorities slipping by the wayside. Increasingly, it’s occurring to me that the opportunity I can’t afford to miss is the canoe trip about to come.
And so I’m doing what I can to get the web site, pamphlets, et al in place so that this venture has every opportunity to succeed. At the same time, I’m trying to maintain the long term view that never will there come a day when there isn’t some element of work to do, the bottom of the pile will never be discovered, and it’s my challenge to leave the office all the same.
Eric continues his developing relationship with local, organic food.
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We noticed that the afternoon sun was blocked by the line of trees to the west of our garden. I emailed friend and arborist Todd Irvine to ask his opinion, hoping he might offer some pruning. When he saw the photo of our site, he responded as follows:
I have outlined in red the trees that are Norway Maples. These trees are not native, they will get to be 60 feet tall, they will produce thousands of seeds. If they are on your property I would strongly suggest you cut them down. All you need is a good hand saw and timmmber.
We got our hands on a Sawzall, and the rest is history. With some willing cooperation from the neighbours, we’ve increased sun exposure by reducing invasive trees.
It seems a group of British social entrpreneurs got together and brainstormed a list of best practices and common experiences to consider.
Scanning through the items, I find myself connecting with the sentiment and also feeling outside of the process. How did all those dynamic, change-making people all get to be in the same room? Who invited them? How were they able to afford to be off-job that particular day?
My job today has me at a high school in a working class neighbourhood in West Toronto, where several of the students are first generation Canadian. I wonder where their opportunities to breathe life into passion and social practice will come from. How will they perceive a list of 100 ways to live an enagged and satisfying life?
I like to imagine that all the world is covered in snow, and that every moment is an opportunity to start a snowball. Our opportunity is to get behind that snowball and keep pushing, each subsequent revolution accumulating more and more. And as engaged, dynamic people, we want to have many snowballs going. Is the UK list something that holds value for all, or only the priviledged few who find a way to gain access to the room?
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A series that explores Eric’s developing relationship with local, organic food. Subscribe here.
Campfire chat with Mike Higginson about living safely with risk.
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It seemed an unusual sight for a Sunday morning; a large dump truck rolling through this sleepy North Toronto suburb. Shawn had connected with Larry, the man at the wheel, through Craigslist, and had ordered 16 yards of soil. Turns out that Larry drives a truck for a living, and 16 yards is a full load. Fortunately for our inexperienced farm team, Larry saw right away that we had ordered too much, and was able to sell off some of the order to another neighbour. Larry made a couple of other good suggestions, including making sure we had wheelbarrows (one early plan was to move the soil with buckets), before leaving us a large pile on the front lawn.
The cycle was to put shovelfuls of dirt into our barrow, cart the load to the back, and find an empty bed in which to dump. The job took Shawn and I a full day of exhausting work to get the entire pile into the backyard, and through the course of the day, there were a variety of curious neighbours who came up to ask questions, offer suggestions and offer us paying jobs should we have interest in taking on responsibility for their yards.
One thing we came to appreciate is the difference between soil and dirt, and that buying through the Internet may have saved us some money but cost us growing quality. The worms and clumps and richness we found pulling up the sod were lacking in the pile Larry had dumped on us. A friend recently mentioned to me that farmers grow soil, not food, and could wind up that this first year on Maggie’s Farm turns out to be all about getting good nutrients into our beds.
All the same, it seems helpful to remember that the plants want to grow, and the onion bulbs Farmer Dan passed us almost immediately began to sprout. On a trip to the Loblaws Garden Centre, we bought bags of Organic Mushroom compost, hoping to add missing nutrients to the beds. We also bought several vegetable seedlings, as the rains and our own busy lives have cost us the window to plant from seed.
Among the plants we have planted are beets, chard, cucumbers, beans, basil, tomatoes and lettuce, though I learned through some after-the-fact research that some of these are cold-lovers that are unlikely to do well with the heat expected in the next number of weeks. I just keep reminding myself that all we’re doing is preparing soil for next year, and that if our plants get some element of sun and water and love, perhaps we’ll reap some level of success.