Amending beds with a boost of rotting organic matter. Mushroom compost looks SO good after a rain. The farm looks better after a soaking too. It looks like possibility and life instead of sweat and wilt.
It still surprises me how easily my soul takes to these mundane and repetitive tasks. Sinking a pitchfork into the compacted soil, prying up the malnourished clay, sifting it through the rich compost. Step back, repeat.
No bushy-tailed volunteers begging for direction. The dreary sky drove them away. My fellow farm-hands off somewhere else, immersed in their own task. Fall is coming, there's a lot to do.
The beds are ready for seed, if they aren't already lined with promising sprouts. Harvesting gets all the glory, but planting holds its own in my book.
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