WinterCount by Trish Stefanko

Out in the field I am usually deep in thought, about lettuce, the rigors of love, and the invaluable work of ladybugs. I am so tied to this earth. Last week five of us began the day's harvest while the ground and crops were still sprinkled with frost. We worked individually that day...in silence (except for Adam muttering to himself about the failings of contemporary culture). Well into our work, a sizable flock of Canada geese approached from a distance, first with sound, eventually gracing us with their unmistakable flight pattern. Twenty-three birds in all.

The calling of geese in October strikes a primal chord in me; a sound symbolizing the movement of planet and light and heat. It announces impending death for some, and grueling travel in hopes of survival for others.

I paused my conversation with the lettuce for a moment and glanced skyward. Following the geese across vast blue, I felt holy. Over in the chard, and spinach, and leeks, we were all standing, individual and silent, bowing to the messengers of approaching cold and darkness. A moment of quiet solidarity passed between us.

Geese, like all migraters, do it for food. Meanwhile, we farmers dig root vegetables for winter meals. Non-human species know what we seem to have forgotten; that our survival is inexorably tied to this earth. The ground. Almighty radiant solar heat, soil and water. Find those who do remember out in the fields no matter the weather, no matter the hour, no matter the joint pain! I am deeply grateful for this land and to those who maintain relationship with it. Our attention to the geese slowly yielded to the tasks at hand. The religious moment passed, and I silently wished the birds safe passage south, counting on their spring greeting many months from now, when bleakness recedes and light, and heat, and life return.