Around 12:30 one recent night, I was woken up by a notification on John’s phone that managed to slip through his “bedtime” block.  Apparently, more of our seed packets had reached Detroit.  Aside from the fact that I think it’s pretty amazing that anything reached Detroit in the middle of that night’s winter storm, I love hearing about our seeds being on their way. Their very presence conjures up rainbows of colors and an abundance of familiar scents, all of which bring with them memories of warm sun and flavors bursting in my mouth. 

This sensory explosion is the fun side of our seeds arriving, and it can almost transport me away from the two colors outside the window right now ~ gray and white, the wind chills in the minus single digits, and the days without sun. The intentional side of the seed packets’ arrival is grounded in our vision for this farm, rescue of our little corner of the Earth from sterility by recovering a healthy ecosystem.

When we bought this farm, we could see a faint sketch of what we were envisioning: the house was a clear work-in-progress, but it was there; the barn was a clear “work-in-progress,” but it, too, was there; the pasture fencing was, well, non-existent ~ but a lot of the posts were there, so we could see a vague outline of what the pastures would become.  It was easy to see “next steps” in everything except for native plants and animals. There were irises along a few of the walls of the buildings, but there were no gardens.  Only two or three different types of grasses interspersed with milkweed grew in the pastures, and an overgrown grape vine, a wild patch of red raspberries, and a few blackberry vines grew in one area of the yard. There were six large maple trees along the road, but there were nearly twice that many indentations in the ground where there had been beautiful pines. We saw virtually no birds and only a fox and various deer made their home here.  The silence seemed to speak of a place waiting to come back to life.  

On the one hand, hearing that silence was an invitation ~ what shall we plant? Whom shall we try to draw to this place? Looked at through this best lens, we had a blank canvas onto which we could paint a healthy native ecosystem.  On the other hand, the silence spoke of the great distance between what we were looking at and what we envisioned. We ignored this second hand and got to work. 

What shall we plant turned first into, where shall we put the gardens? We decided the first one would be for us, a large garden for vegetables in the space surrounding the grape, raspberry and blackberry vines. The site is close enough to the house for irrigation, yet far enough away so that full sunlight falls on it all day. The second garden is for the bees. It’s closer to the house so that the colors are the first things we see as we look out the south windows. It’s crescent shaped and full of perennial and annual flowers with a bit of shade in the mornings and full sun in the afternoon. Lilacs, roses, butterfly bushes, lupines, peonies, and irises all line the front yard fence. Then for the chickens, a bit of garden next to their run for some herbs, some kale, giant sunflowers, bucket flowers, and broom corn. Finally, a way-back garden to grow all the remaining seedlings from the winter’s starts. 

Next, what shall we plant turned into, how can we draw the birds back? Songbirds, woodpeckers, raptors ~ we wanted all we could draw here, so we needed trees. We started with two oaks for the greatest diversity of food for baby birds, a few redbuds for nesting sites, a young pine tree for squirrels, and a small orchard with apple, pear, and cherry trees. We lost one of the oaks and the redbuds, so this spring, we’re replacing the oak tree, adding two more apple trees and two peach trees to the orchard. We’ve gathered seeds from our maple trees and will plant the young saplings along the west boundary, just in from the hedgerow we’ve started to build as a way to mitigate for erosion from that field.  Fifteen pine trees will begin the pine stand on the north edge of the property as a screen against the erosion from that field. Hopefully, all these trees will grow and become home to many birds and small mammals.

For hope is what we pin all of this on. It’s been said that one who plants trees plants hope for the future. Rescuing and reclaiming this Earth is an act of hope, constant work and new beginnings.  Our garden flowers were and will be again gorgeous, but this year we’re adding bees to our homestead because they will play a pivotal role in moving the habitat forward. Our pine trees will grow, but it will be years before we see the grove that today we see in our minds. Our pastures still only have two or three types of grasses interspersed with milkweed, but in a year or two, we’re going to start strategically planting other native prairie flowers and grasses. 

The flowers feed the bees. The trees house the birds. The birds eat the insects that carry diseases to the mammals.  Our bodies are fed by the fruit, and our souls are fed by the birdsong. Our sheep grow strong, our soil grows strong, our bees grow strong, and we stay strong. At least that’s the hope.