Dear Farm Journal,
This morning, we promptly prune tomatoes before our hoop houses have the chance to soak up the staggering heat of the fully risen sun. Before long, beads of salty perspiration drip into my eyes and we hasten to finish. Out in the asparagus field, the grass has grown to hip height, as our tractor is in the shop. We bravely sweep our arms and legs through the tall blades in search of tight spears. So many of the spear heads have now opened beyond harvest quality. As we near the summer solstice and Mother Nature comes to the peak of her radiance, farmers are powerless in comparison. We’ll never outwork her ever shining energy that drives us from the greenhouses, calls weeds and grasses skyward, and pushes plants to the end of their life cycle with her lustrous beams. We can only abide diligently in her hours of daylight and cultivate by her grace.