To know the dark

Ah, January. I spent New Year’s Day joyfully cleaning up our winter holiday decor. I am a minimalist at heart, and I can never decide which I enjoy more: decorating for the holidays or putting it all away. (Possibly the latter … !)

There is a spareness to January that I’ve come to embrace in recent years. The bare aesthetic feels like a restart. A palette cleanser. A welcome pause. I love the silhouettes of empty branches against the gray sky. I love how brightly colored the willow branches look in an otherwise drab landscape. I wouldn’t want to live an entire year in January, but once a year it feels welcome.

And, yet. It’s a hard month too, isn’t it? During the holiday seasons we welcome the return of light in the darkness, and yes the days begin to lengthen in January and February. But it’s a slow process, and winter is still very much here. Nights are still long. We have to hold every plan lightly amidst the possibility of illness or inclement weather.

This last week in NW Oregon has been a stressful one for most people: an ice storm locked us all into our homes, knocked down trees and power for many, and paused all in-person activities. We were spared the worst of it where we live, but just nearby in Portland, many are still without power or safe transportation and people even died in tragic weather-related accidents. Birds flocked to our farm’s bird feeders, hungry and cold, hunkering down in our sheltered spaces. We could hear them rustling on our covered porch in the evenings, trying to find a place secure enough against the freezing winds. Even then, we found many dead birds after some of the coldest nights. So, while I can appreciate much about January, it is a fierce month.

Even in winter, our family still goes outside plenty, to harvest vegetables, play, walk around the fields, and simply to get from one building to another. Our house is small, and as the kids have grown we’ve expanded our indoor life to a series of outbuildings where we’ve built make-shift work spaces of all kinds. I imagine many farmers can relate to life and work spread out among many random sheds and pole barns!

And so, in these cold months, I find myself walking regularly outside after dark just as a part of daily life. We don’t have many outdoor lights, so I usually use the light on my phone to illuminate my footing. But in many places where I know the path is smooth and easy, I will just walk in the dark.

This would have been inconceivable when I was young. Like many children, I was afraid of the dark. I couldn’t have even told you what I specifically feared — it was more of a gut-level physical reaction to not being able to see. To not knowing. My imagination would just grope into the darkness and wonder: what could be there? The fear lingered into early adulthood, although with less of the panic reaction. And, then, at some point in my time of living on our farm, it just went away without me noticing it. Perhaps I’m just older and that’s part of aging. Perhaps I just know more about what poses real dangers in our world. Perhaps I’m both just more worn out and less imaginative than I was a child. Perhaps I just know this place so very well.

I’ve spent a lot of time outside in the dark here. I’ve heard the night creatures scurrying around me and I have a sense of what they are likely to be: feral cats, skunks, possums, raccoons, deer, and coyote all come out after dark on our farm. I’ve seen silhouettes of bats and owls at dusk and against the light of the moon. I’ve heard hundreds of Canada geese calling as they settle into fields to rest. I’ve snuggled with my family in sleeping bags in the yard, watching for shooting stars on cloudless winter nights. I’ve learned that my breath doesn’t stop working just because it is dark. My heart doesn’t stop beating. It has been a gift to become acquainted with darkness on our farm, and I am reminded of a favorite poem:

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,
and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,
and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

- Wendell Berry

Winter is a hard season, without a doubt. People suffer. Animals suffer. The restart feeling is also mixed up with destruction and death. This is the season when we face the challenging parts of life cycles — the inevitable ends. The darkness. Perhaps this season offers us the opportunity to become acquainted with the inevitable. Perhaps January offers us practice in grief. We will never be inoculated from the pain of loss, but we can perhaps learn to face it, acknowledge it.

I’m not sure if I’m totally making sense in all of this sorting through of winter, and maybe there’s nothing clear and cohesive that can be teased out of it except that January is inevitable. And here we are, living through it.

The January view: when all the recent ice and snow melted, the Willamette River rose into our lowest fields.

Valentine’s Day Gifts

I’m laughing thinking that surely I need a smoother segue between my January meditation and this note about Valentine’s Day gifts, but honestly Valentine’s Day always feels awkward in its placement in February anyway. Here we are, walking through winter, probably worrying about ice or getting sick, and out jumps Valentine’s Day yelling: “Hey! Get romantic now!” As if!

My husband and I have had to cancel many Valentine’s Day dates due to illness, so, perhaps it’s not the best placed holiday, but also maybe it’s a nice distraction from everything else going on in February!

Either way, if you want to give your sweetie (or bestie … or yourself!) a gift of appreciation this February, I’ve got some fun options for you: two love-themed mugs and shirts available on my website. Even if you end up with a sniffly nose on Valentine’s Day, you can lounge in a soft new shirt or drink tea or broth from a mug with your favorite person. The gifts are made to order, so early soon for guaranteed delivery by February 14! Shop on the website now here!

Edible news: more languages!

Edible has been out in the world for four months now! Since first coming out in English last fall, it has also come out in translation — there are now editions in Spanish, Italian and German! What a global project this book has been: plants from around the world, being read about around the world.

Thank you again to the whole team at Thames & Hudson and the co-authors Kevin Hobbs and Artur Cisar-Erlach for inviting me to illustrate these 70 amazing, fascinating plants. If you still haven’t checked our book out, you can buy it anywhere online, from your local bookstore, or from my Bookshop.org affiliate link here. (Third Street Books in McMinnville also still has signed copies and they ship!)

Check out all those languages! (Photo courtesy Kevin Hobbs)

Recently on the podcast:

Since my last newsletter, I’ve had three new Growing for Market podcast episodes drop:

• Keshaun Joseph (Mount Liamuiga Farm) and I talked about his first year farming in Colorado — the challenges, the successes, and where he’s headed next. Keshaun also shared about how his farming journey helped him reconnect with his cultural heritage and feeling grounded after years of corporate work.

• Rebecca Kutzer-Rice (Moonshot Farm) and I talked about her family’s year-round flower farm and her decision to quit her job and join her husband to work full-time on the farm.

• Cole Mazariegos-Anastassiou (Brisa Ranch) and I talked about how Brisa Ranch has looked beyond farmers markets to find new marketing opportunities selling directly to institutions like colleges and school districts in the Bay Area.

You can listen (and subscribe!) on any podcast app or go to the GFM website to listen or get more info from the show notes for each episode. New episodes are released every Tuesday — my co-host Andrew’s interviews are also fascinating!

Even though we’re still in the midst of winter, I can see buds pushing on the bare branches already. On the same day I cleaned up our holiday decor, I also cut a twig bouquet to bring into the house. It has cuttings from all kinds of deciduous trees from our property: cottonwood, willow, dogwood, cherry, apple, walnut, and more. I put the cuttings in water that I placed on a bookshelf in our warm living room, and they are already putting out roots and the beginning of leaves. I like to make a tradition of forcing twigs this time of year, to help me remember how close we really are to spring.

What brings you hope this time of year? How do you cope with the cold and the challenges? Reach out and let me know!

With gratitude,

Katie

P.S. Coming soon this spring: more news about my farming and parenting book! I’m SO close to getting to share lots and lots of fun details. Until then, stay warm and safe and well!