Cultivating Patience

Lately, my Zoom fiber arts classes have grown to a mutual understand that the first five minutes of check-in will be focused on how much snow everyone received that week. As the snowstorms keep rolling through at consistent intervals, the “where am I going to put this?” woes continue.

Some students have chosen to leave the snow behind, tuning in from Florida and Arizona, but many of us are still here in the Upper Midwest, donning our boots and snow shovels for another round of white. On a farm with livestock, heading south for a time is not an option, so we find other ways to cope with the weekly onslaughts.

One way is to appreciate the beauty of the fresh snow, and how it stays so fresh and clean in the countryside. This morning as I trudged down to our Farmstead Creamery through six fresh inches, all was a hush amidst the lacy, falling flakes. Snow stuck to every branch and twig, and the gently swirling wind blew the flakes in patterns like flocks of birds. The whiteness has a beauty and magic of its own, infused with a restful peace you cannot find in summertime.

That time of rest is essential on the farm, as springtime with its baby animals and demanding garden work asks us to be fully ready. Spring serves as the boot camp for summer, with its fieldwork and gardening. Autumn becomes squirrel mode, as the harvests come in and butchering season, as everything is tucked away before snow flies. Snow signals curtains to the growing season, which will not return until the snow leaves.

Yet, waiting for the snow to leave need not be an idle time. This is a time of mending, of regeneration, of creativity. This is a time to fill our inner well before the great outpouring of springtime. All of nature in the North needs this time, and humans are no exception. The snow helps us learn to slow down, to take our time, to heal.

As the days grow noticeably longer in March, we can start to feel itchy for spring. I can see this in our livestock, who grow restless, wishing green grass could suddenly appear. This is when it’s important to remember that another aspect of winter’s teaching is to cultivate patience. All this snow is banked up spring rains, which will regenerate the streams, rivers, and lakes. All this snow is banked up moisture to soak into the gardens and pastures and trickle down into the aquafers. All this snow is a signal that we’re free of drought for the moment, a specter that can take down any farm at will.

Cultivating patience and the homesteading lifestyle go hand in hand. Seeds do not immediately sprout upon touching the soil. They need time to germinate and swell, sending down hairy roots before anything emerges from the loamy earth. There is the necessary patience when helping mother animals give birth, as rushing can often lead to death. There’s patience in knowing that not every year will be a bumper crop, and that you can always try again next year.

Our current society is not very fond of patience, instead focusing on a hurried pace and productivity. Winter serves as a reminder that there is an antidote to this toxic addition to instant gratification. She reminds us to be patient, and with patience comes good things worth waiting for. It will doubtless be a jerky, halting, one-step-forward, two-steps-backwards ascent into spring, just as it is any other year on the farm. Wishing it would go faster can often lead to disaster.

Years where it rained buckets on top of snow like this have caused horrendous flooding on the farm, or caused the creek to wash out our lane because the culvert couldn’t handle the torrents of water all at once. Too much melting too fast can also cause erosion, choking streams and rivers. Instead, when winter takes a patient approach to the end of her rein, the slow soaking into the earth can herald a good maple syrup season and a slightly less chaotic mud season on the farm.

It is helpful to remember that, in the Northwoods, March is still a winter month, though it be winter in transition. It reminds us not to be in too much of a hurry, cutting short the needed time for regeneration. So this morning, as I watch the snow outside my window pile up even higher, I choose to remember how beautiful it is, and that all good things are worth waiting for. See you down on the farm sometime.