Though there hasn’t been measurable precipitation now in several days, my work boots kicked up sprays of dew trudging out to the garden early this morning. Days have been warming, but the nights remain cool and heavy. That, and the ground is saturated. it has been difficult to get much cultivating done this year in preparation for the seedlings and seeds. Perhaps it was the last gasp of winter, last week’s bonus snow fall, but I'll not wager too heavily on that “last” part. It’s not even Mother’s Day; who knows what yet could meteorologically happen? As some measure of my optimism, however, I did return the snow shovel yesterday to its hook in the garage. Anxious to seize this interruption of good weather, I grabbed the broad-fork and opened the fence. I had managed to till several of the trenches last week before the weather reverted, but there is still much to do. I concentrated yesterday's available time on mixing up and distributing the organic fertilizer. Today more muscles would be required. After bumping into descriptions and recommendations in my readings for over a year now, this winter I took the plunge and ordered my own broad-fork -- a very old, perhaps even ancient, completely manual farming implement designed to deeply loosen the soil. With its two sturdy handles and claw-like tines, the tool reaches down 14-inches, well below the churning capacity of a power tiller without turning the soil’s basic architecture into a homogenized soup like the tiller.
But did I mention that it is completely manual? As in its only power comes from the upper body of the user. So, in other words, it’s work. Basic, old-fashioned, physical work -- the kind that makes you sleep well at night, at least after the ibuprofen has kicked in.
But I rather enjoy the effort. I can see what I have accomplished, I can comprehend and appreciate the intended value, and it feels at least symbolically like, with all this loosening, I am doing something redemptive. After all, the whole world is uptight, not just my garden. Neighbors and families, faith communities and governing bodies -- indeed whole nations -- have become so hyper-sphinctered it’s no wonder we pinball through our days intellectually and emotionally and morally and politically and militarily flipping and colliding without ever really connecting. We are packed and wound so tight.
A couple of hours later and I have forked all but six of my garden rows. There is much more work to do, but though I have more time, my strength is spent. Washing the accumulated mud from the tines, I feel some satisfaction at the good I have contributed and the potential for growth and fruit I have encouraged, sore muscles notwithstanding. And prying off my dew-wet boots to go inside, I can't help wondering what the broad-fork equivalent might be for Congress and the rest of us who could similarly use a little loosening up.
3 comments:
The manually powered nature of your broad-fork reminded me of this I just read from The Writer's Almanac on the May 6 anniversary of the creation of the WPA:
WPA employees were derided as "shovel-leaners," an accusation John Steinbeck addressed in his essay "A Primer on the '30s": "It was the fixation of businessmen that the WPA did nothing but lean on shovels. I had an uncle who was particularly irritated at shovel-leaning. When he pooh-poohed my contention that shovel-leaning was necessary, I bet him five dollars, which I didn't have, that he couldn't shovel sand for fifteen timed minutes without stopping. He said a man should give a good day's work and grabbed a shovel. At the end of three minutes his face was red, at six he was staggering and before eight minutes were up his wife stopped him to save him from apoplexy. And he never mentioned shovel-leaning again."
Instead of idealizing the myriad satisfactions of old-fashioned physical work, your actually doing it gives your reflections a forceful credibility and a loosening-up of crustiness. Not without the regular and necessary practice of broad-fork leaning I'm sure.
Thanks for what you do, Tim. I'm proud of you.
So, I can grasp the cultural, ecological, spiritual value of rejecting the power-driven tiller. I can grasp the figurative value of not making homogeneous soup of the soil's classic architecture. But I'm challenged to understand why creme of loam (w/composte) might not be such a good menu for the little ones. Is there more to it than aeration or maybe overdoing?
Inquiring gardeners want to know.
According to my reading -- I am a better bookworm than gardener -- the various layers of soil have their own properties and microbial activity. Destroying those layers interrupts that beneficial activity. The loosening, however, fosters root development
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