The Farmer's Shadow

My grandfather had this interesting cadence to the way he communicated. If you asked him a question, he paused. For a long time. Newcomers would undoubtedly wonder if he'd heard them. Those who knew him would be laughing right now at the accuracy. He simply, unapologetically, was processing and thinking before he answered. Once you understood this was just his cadence, you slowed down too. And when he finally spoke, you listened. He had this saying that I've returned to many times over the years:

"The best thing a farmer can see in his field is his own shadow."

My grandfather graduated with an engineering degree, supported by the GI Bill after serving as an officer in the Navy during World War II. He later became an entrepreneur, launching farming into our family history as a strawberry grower in mid-century greater Los Angeles. He was wise, handsome, calm, and confident.

I remember racing around in the dirt with my brother, circling the men like ducklings. Our kinetic to their zero-point energy. 

The walking of the fields was the job. It's surveying in order to direct action. It's a census before deciding where to direct resources. It's reconnaissance before pursuing victory. You can't tend to what you don't know, what you haven't seen, measured, or walked. The Surveyor records reality. It's visual and mental accounting.

I've thought about this quote and applied it to my life many times over the years. What it meant to me was that our life needs our shadow. Awake, aware, surveying. My grandfather walked strawberry fields. My father walked strawberry fields. And before dawn, I rise, gather my journal, and survey the landscape. What happened yesterday? What needs to happen today? Is there progress? Where is water pooling? How are the plants doing? What changed since yesterday? What needs attention? What is thriving? What is struggling?

From the outside, it looks like they're just standing there. A farmer knows better. He is gathering information. He is building a map. He is learning the territory. He is conducting reconnaissance. And for me, it is ancestral.

I am fortunate to have grown up among dirt, plants, water, and, when in Northern California, the oaks. Connected to land and seasons. I am fortunate to have grown up among men who cared for their families and fed communities, consistent year after year, modeling the tending to land and fields and, ultimately... lives well led.