Hands In the Dirt

Written by Daisy Roberts

With change comes the tumult of anxiety-- a general fear of the unknown which deepens and sometimes darkens the experience of moving through times of transition and forward motion. This truth manifested in my journey to The Good Earth farm as I set out alone from Columbus, Ohio toward Lennox, taking two days to make the drive with lots of time to contemplate, anticipate, and observe all of my fears and hopes for this new adventure. While some of this thought work was certainly useful, much of it was not, tying and tightening knots in my stomach and creating doorways for fear to creep toward with her wide eyed face. I was ultimately ready to arrive, ready for the exhausting rampages of my mind to quiet with the start of this new adventure.

Upon arriving at The Good Earth, Nancy gave me a tour of the farm: the vegetable field, the chicken coop, the wispy pastureland in all shades of green, the barn and the winding creek. And it was then that I remembered: Nature is the antidote. For fear, change, and any imaginable sort of existential turbulence. How could I forget? When the strong winds lift and twist my hair, when the billowing leaves of the trees whisper and murmur the reminder: 

You belong here. You belong here. You belong here. 

Here being anywhere you are, anywhere that nature blooms and tethers you to a deep rooted sense of belonging that remains regardless of how far you are from home or how unfamiliar your reality is. Many of my most beloved poets, songwriters, and authors have meditated on this same idea: Mary Oliver, David Whyte, Rumi, Kahlil Gibran, Adrienne Lenker, the list could go on and on with beautiful names. I am specifically reminded of Oliver’s “Wild Geese,” one of my favorite poems, which reads:

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

Despite the very real holds of fear and uncertainty which accompanied my journey to Lennox, arriving at the farm and watching the tall grasses dance over the gently sloping fields, feeling the force of the wind as it scrubs my face and leaves my cheeks red, watching T-Bone the cow grazing lazily in the pasture with his best friend Rex the pony, and even pulling ticks out of my hair and clothes, I hear nature’s reminder that we all belong to the same family, that there is an unconditional belonging to be found right here, wherever here is. On my first day of planting it was tangible: my hands in the dirt, my kinship with the wriggling earthworms and the tiny arms of the pepper plants, reaching for the light. Spending the day in rhythm with the land cast any lingering uncertainties from my focus as I quickly (or at least I thought I was quick-- Nancy came to help and whizzed past in a glorious swirl of speed and grace) transplanted trays and trays of plants into the field. These ideas about the value of communing with nature and finding restoration in wilderness are lovely to contemplate from inside the window, but truly lovelier and more meaningful out in the vegetable field, with my hands in the dirt. Good Earth, I am happy to be here.