Casey O’Neill is a farmer and owner of Happy Day Farms in Laytonville, California. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of The Mendocino Voice.
There are few moments in my life when I was so thankful for the rain, at a time when we need to nourish the earth and soothe our souls. This is the year to save rain. After the brutal heat of July, I remember the storms of August that brought me back from the brink of despair. Just like the soil, without moisture, my inner surface hardens, becomes inflexible, unbreakable, and hard. When water comes, it reminds us of flow and movement and the need for stretching and care. I am grateful as I sit in the warmth of my kitchen and listen to the sound of water dripping on the roof.
Yesterday we finished harvesting our cannabis, which was a big boost before the storm ended the season. The market is uncertain, but that’s agriculture, and we’re happy to be out of the natural ups and downs. Once the herbs arrive at our shed, it is our responsibility to finish them and bring the highest quality product possible to market.
I think about how cannabis has changed me over the years, the many insights and realizations it has brought me, some good, some difficult. Bob Marley said, “When you smoke herbs, you reveal yourself.” I think about the power of plants and the responsibility we have to grow them and put them out into the world to provide support and assistance in people’s lives. We take energetics seriously and strive to maintain good energy throughout. As Grandpa Robert always said, “Be happy at work.”
We had a great team this year and lots of help from friends and neighbors. Fall is a whirlwind of food and herb harvesting, farmers markets, gardening, bed preparation, and planting winter crops. I sincerely appreciate all the help. Many people will do the light work for you, so it’s much easier to find joy when the burden is spread out to reduce the monotony. We joke, laugh, chat, and enjoy each other’s company as we go through difficult labor to gather abundance from the soil.
Think about the cycles of life, the seasons of growth, flowering and fruiting, decline and death. The decomposition that makes way for new life, the construction of humus that builds a human symphony through the instruments of plants and animals that grow on it. Living soil produces health. This is the principle by which I try to live my life, a guiding star that always stays ahead, out of reach, but with clear direction.
Every time it rains, I am reminded of the thousands of seeds we have sown over the past few weeks, the cover crops that germinate in the sudden moisture, the tails of roots that stretch into the darkness of the cold, damp ground. I think of the cruciferous cabbage, cauliflower, broccoli, romanesco, and Brussels sprouts absorbing water one after another and moving toward fruition, and of the winter tables of my family and community. We think of the cold, crunchy salads and delicious root vegetables that brighten up winter meals, and the hearty winter squash that makes us feel satisfied and full.
This week we began our annual comfrey pilgrimage, digging out a tote full of plants, collecting as many root masses as we could from areas of the garden that were already abundant with plants. We lay the root and plant clumps flat on the ground in a row where we want them to grow and cover them with cannabis stalks removed from the flower bed after harvesting. Plant the large stems first, then fill in the space with smaller stems and layers of compost leftovers from animal bedding and last year’s harvest. Next, put a layer of finished compost, then cover the whole thing with straw.
I have come to understand that the creation of these comfrey beds is both a ceremony at the end of the year gone by and an offering for the year to come. I think of them as improved megacultures. No heavy woody debris, but sturdy stems of cannabis and small animal and plant entrails that can be composted as a baseline for future fertility. The beds we built last year broke my heart crying out for water during the heat of early summer, but when the rains came in August, the comfrey suddenly grew in abundance and I was so happy. I thought. With no irrigation at all, biomass produced in an arid climate gives me hope and gives me a tangible means of regulating future returns.
Over the years, we’ve spent thousands of dollars on straw for mulch to protect the soil, retain moisture, and prevent erosion. In the process, we brought in noxious weeds and Trojan horses that lurk deep in the bales, springing up and releasing bindweed and thistle among the tender plants. Our long-term goal is to grow enough comfrey to mulch the entire farm with its nutritious leaves, protecting soil and moisture levels while cycling life and increasing strength and abundance. It’s about nurturing.
Success in agriculture requires learning how to reduce costs, produce more effectively, be more efficient, and ultimately be happier at work. Planting comfrey accomplishes these goals for us, and although it’s a gradual process over several years, each step feels right as we strut toward that guiding star. As always, I wish you lots of love and great success on your journey!
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