Corn and beans were the primary crops dotting the curved landscape between tufts of wooded areas.
As an adult I moved to Montana where fields of wheat were larger than five Oneida County farms put together.
Sometimes in the middle of harvest, I would drive back roads just to watch the majestic ballet of machine and nature. Four to six massive combines, with precise movements in perfect harmony would sweep across large expanses of land gathering grain.
Now living in Northern California's Central Valley, the land's fertility is literally palpable - especially as spring approaches
While my own farm is a tiny backyard - it does need to feed me for most of the year.
Like any farmer, including hundreds of years of my forefathers and mothers, this is where faith is the greatest product to be farmed.
Prospects look good. The sun is bright and temperatures warm.
As I place lettuce seeds into the hanging recycled plastic bottles along the fence, I can only hope come this June no hail suddenly appears and pulverizes tender leaves like it did last year.
Will there be enough heat to have continuous tomatoes come August or will a cooler summer stunt the harvest?
What about the little stalks of lemon grass. with newly sprouted roots from three weeks sitting in water in my sun-filled back room, will they mature in the large container? Considering a feral cat has formed a disturbing curiosity with their scent - I can only hope they will someday flavor my Asian dishes.
Hope is faith-based.
Right now I am farming on faith, that everything will grow to their full potential.
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