First Day Back
When I first walked through the farms, spring was still struggling to emerge. Stuck in the typical Ohio oscillation between cold, then warm, sweet sunshine, and then surprise snow, the farm snuggled underneath windy, gray skies as I walked through each plot. Each plot appeared like a tiny surprise, sometimes tucked between two houses and at other times livening a whole corner (ex. the lovely Patrick Kaufman Learning Garden).
A large maple tree overlooks the U-Pick garden at Franklinton Farms
I grew up on a farm that was quite different from Franklinton Farms. I’m the product of two multi-generational farming families, a point of pride within each family. As a child, I’d spend my time feeding and caring for calves, and sometimes gathering dandelions for Sandford, the loyal and protective lamb that I had convinced my dad to let me keep as a pet.
Frequently, my mom or one of my siblings would peek their head into the milk-house or one of the calf stalls, and say “who are you talking to?” It was a common family quip. I was the daydreamer, the child who talked to herself in between milking the cows and cleaning out stalls. Any living thing – calf, lamb, dog or flower – became the audience for my speeches, stories, and at times, imagined conversations with my favorite celebrities at the time (basically Emma Watson).
Me with my sweet lamb, Sandford
Farm life wasn’t necessarily always idyllic. It required a lot of a family, of a child. It didn’t necessarily guarantee financial security or safety, as demonstrated by the stories behind each new limp, bruise, or cut. In my teenage years, the farm became something I wanted to escape. I wanted to be free from its obligations and find something I truly enjoyed. When I moved to Columbus, I filled my time with what most young people do: college, a part-time job and reflections on childhood.
About a year ago, I told a friend that I no longer talked to myself, citing it as a sign I had somehow lost a vital part of my childhood. Some sort of magic happens when your hands busily cultivate life, while your mind has the space to wander. In an effort to regain the lost art of muttering to myself, I took up walking. I didn’t wander through stalls or fields anymore, but rather through parks and sidewalks.
the office microgreens
While this is my first week at Franklinton Farms, I can’t help but feel as if I have returned. I’m sitting in an office that smells like my grandmother’s gardening shed (in the best way possible), and tiny, happy microgreens sit mere feet away from me. Not to mention, a walk through the farms has quickly topped the list of my favorite places to think.
It feels good to be back.