From Green to Gold

Well I did it. With the help of some great neighbors, I planted and harvested my first crop on our farm. As I went through the 2019 growing season solo, I thought of the late spring and fall nights Chasen spent farming. He loved nothing more than to plant, nurture, and harvest crops. He would admit that science was not his strong suit, but when it came to anything agronomic, he was second to none. Picking out my seed variety, calculating fertilizer needs, and landing on an application plan gave me full blown anxiety. For him it came so natural. He had such confidence in the technology and science behind raising corn and beans in south central Iowa. He was made to farm.

Reflecting on past conversations with Chasen, building a cash flow with Kirn, and putting together a game plan with my neighbors, I was ready to go to the field…from my desk of course. Nolan and I waited patiently for our fields to spring to life in late April. Once the heat found the corn and the corn found the nitrogen, it took off. As the corn grew taller, I was able to breathe a little deeper finding some peace and honestly a little excitement in raising a crop. I had never been more ready for the combine to roll across our fields as fall approached. Once the crew arrived Nolan and I had a chance to ride in the combine. As we crept across the field, I felt such a sense of accomplishment. It came full circle for me. As the yield flashed across the monitor, I began to postulate: How can I change my fertilizer prescription next year? Is this seed variety the best for the farm? What if I ran a tile line here? The fire was ignited.   

A lot of people were in disbelief that I personally farmed our ground this year. Although some days my anxiety made me question my decision, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Chasen and I were fortunate enough to purchase the farm that had been in his family for five generations. There is something indescribable about owning and caring for the land. The ability to dream and live out our stewardship nature; I have yet to find anything that can compare.

When we purchased the farm, it was enrolled in CRP. I was in love. It looked like the perfect cow farm, lush green grass as far as the eye could see and a pond to boot. My love affair soon came to an end as we made hay, planted our first crop, and held our breath. Onto making the house a home, finishing my thesis and wrapping up wedding plans. You know, as an over-functioner, I never do anything halfway. As the intensity built towards our big day in July so did the heat and lack of moisture. Our first year farming together, which happened to be 2012, our June-planted beans struggled to make 30 bushels to the acre.

Thankfully our luck soon turned around. We made the home ours by finishing the basement ourselves, built fence for our “livestock”, and turned the pasture farm into a productive row crop operation. As life often does, we got busy and some of our wants fell to the wayside as we worked to make the farm cashflow. In the spring of 2018, twelve months into Chasen’s diagnosis, we wanted to live out our dream of improving the land to make it better for the next generation. On the bottom ground there was a large ditch overgrown with trees that ran through the middle of the farm. Not only was the ditch unproductive, but it shaded out the crops that grew nearby reducing the average yield of the farm. A few days spent in the excavator and the view had changed significantly, but the ditch was still there.

This fall we completed the project. Trees were burned and the ditch was graded out, spreading the rich top soil back to the field where it belonged. I am so excited to watch the new field turn from green to gold this next year.

I wish Chasen was here to see the project complete, to see how we were able to heal the farm. It is hard for me to believe that I have lived 365 days without Chasen on this earth. I would like to say the days are getting easier, but that would be a lie. In a way I look at our farm like I look at my heart. Being human we are imperfect. Ditches can form over time or we can inherit them from circumstances of life. Acknowledging the ditches and overgrown brush that fill my heart, I can work on healing and becoming the best version of myself. I have come to learn that I am grieving disappointment, the loss of expectations, forgiveness, and a broken heart. So like the ditch, I am healing my heart one step at a time. The waves of grief continue to strike, but I am better today than I was yesterday and tomorrow is a new day. By becoming more self-aware, I am curious about my emotions and able to process my grief. It is a marathon, not a sprint, with the finish line clear at the end of my time.

I told a friend the other day that this whole experience has made me realize just how human I can be. As we approach Thanksgiving, I am so thankful for the friends and family in my life that have given me the space and grace to grieve on my own time. To be there when I need them, and to leave judgement at the door. To listen and provide advice when I need it most. Thank you for being there for me and for helping me “trust the process”.