WEEDS

Wheat is happy in places and absent in others. Patchy for sure, drowned out overall  by towering weeds and cover crop that has reseeded itself. The grain is growing, but needs longer still to ripen in the fields. Time that would only give weeds a chance to flower and proliferate their seeds. This project confirms the wisdom that farming is hard, and that converting pasture to grains without chemicals takes a long time of chipping away at the weed seed bank. I decided to kill the weeds and wheat here now, and hope for a chance at bread in the future.

The tractor sailed with me through the 5-6 foot stand - the massive temporary habitat we’d built reduced back to the ground in a couple of hours. Crimped grain and weeds appear like ocean waves flowing across the soil. A dozen field mice, a friendly snake, and precious frogs, scurry, slither, and hop scotch out of the way of the monstrous ship. Pressing the adolescent grain down was sad because we had higher hopes, but also very surreal and pretty. I reached out from the tractor to grab some choice heads - brilliant purple barley with golden awns, beefy wheat heads 7” in length - shoving them into my pocket.

The last patch reminded me of the “Last Sheaf” folkloric tales of the magical last stand of wheat where all of the creatures and grain spirits reside. This happened to be brilliantly full of wildflowers that Christine had thrown in the mix at planting. Purples, blues, pinks line the plant matter like a confetti cake, and tears cloud my vision as the last of a hopeful crop and extra special loaf of bread is pressed back into the earth.