Anna Helmer
Gosh, I am having enormous trouble focussing my brain on writing. There are any number of reasons why this is so, but basically, I haven’t made time to get to my computer and once there, commence writing. I get to the machine all right, but my attention is quickly pulled into other areas of interest. The federal election, tawdry trade war manoeuvres, potato sorting lines, and camping equipment are topics of the open tabs in the browser.
The online seed potato store dashboard tab is open too, but I don’t go there much anymore. There are only three orders left for pick-up and most of the remaining seed potato-related work involves responding to people who left it a little
late. And starting soon, as in any day, the remaining inventory is going into the ground.
I think this is the earliest we have begun planting in years. I could go back and confirm that, but it would be a sidetrack from which I would have great difficulty extricating myself. Imagine all the interesting details I would encounter sending me off in all directions were I to open planting records from yesteryear.
No. It is tempting, but resistible. Right? A herculean effort is now underway to maintain focus on writing. A twitch under my right eye mars the impression of outward composure and betrays the inner mental scuffle. Story of my life. The article must claim focus.
You know, some of my focussing struggles are due to my age. It’s true. All ancients over 50 are likely to encounter a brain fog situation such that it is hard to focus. Experiencing this makes me wish I had used my brain better during the years I had more control over it. The good news is this: a) it’s recoverable, and b) by this age, we’re often so smart that it merely brings us intellectually level with the younger people. It gives them a chance to gain a little ground, you see. To catch up, as it were. It’s nature’s plan.
I felt a similar use-it-or-lose-it regret when I became a parent. I remember, as time was passing me by in those early years, and I was perpetually trying to get hours of work done in the 15 minutes I had made available, the feeling of great futility. It was useless to struggle—I had to sink. I should have used my time better when I had the chance.
Before I sally forth further into this topic that is fraught with dangerous waters, please understand that I am a happy parent. There are implications, however, and even if there is no likelihood whatsoever that an imminent parent would understand the absolute depth of the parenthood productivity problem, I feel I ought to mention it.
In fact, not only are children major productivity impediments, but upon the introduction of one into your midst, you can kiss goodbye to any of the fun things you used to enjoy doing in life. And you can just forget about any goals you had prior to their arrival.
On the plus side, if you are willing to adjust those goals and ambitions, there are significant wins available in parenthood. For example, you perhaps previously enjoyed cleaning up the shop and organizing tools, listening to the radio, pondering life’s little questions. Never mind all that. Instead, savour the sweet rush of victory the first time you manage to listen, uninterrupted, to the entire political panel segment on morning radio.
And perhaps you have big, lofty ideals around feeding your brood nothing but your own home-grown vegetables. This may be disappointing to hear, but you’ll be lucky if the child manages to choke down your potatoes without making a gagging face—involuntarily, expressively, and in public. Adjust your goal to “eats enough to survive” and likely every meal will feature triumphant moments, even if it’s only white pasta that goes down the hatch.
I digress. I was talking about planting potatoes, wasn’t I? Oh dear. Yes. There it is. I mentioned early planting. In fact, the soil already seems a bit dusty and today is scorching hot. Okay, this is the real reason I am totally distracted and feeling a bit punchy: I have a feeling we are headed for another heat dome summer, and my swimming hole is too closely resembling the slough from which it was carved. There are sheets of algae floating on the surface and the high water table is preventing our usual maintenance. I know I can’t heat dome farm without a swimmable swamp.
Now that the “Biodynamic” tag has been removed from the Farm Story title of my column, I have obviously gone somewhat adrift, in terms of creativity and content. I asked for it to be removed because as you may have noticed, I ran out of Biodynamic expertise and information quite some time ago. However, apparently it did serve the purpose of keeping me more or less focussed on actual farming.
And to farming I will return. It is official now: we have begun planting, and it is the earliest in years—I went and looked. I have returned to writing, three days later. That’s how long it took to reel myself back in.
helmersorganic.com
Anna Helmer farms in Pemberton, where she dabbles in Biodynamic potato farming. She congratulates Organic BC on their new direction and will be paying her dues.
Featured image: Freshly dug up potatoes. Credit: Suradech – stock.adobe.com.
