Lying Fallow

Until the thaw early this week, the garden was covered with a thick layer of snow. The only thing that broke the smooth, white canvas was the remains of the rosemary plant. I would still look at the garden on my way into the house, out of habit mostly. Sometimes I'd think about what will grow there next season; sometimes I'd ponder just how much to expand it this year. I'd think about the garlic bulbs I planted and wonder what there are up to, deep underground. But mostly when I look at the fallow garden, I get jealous.

The earth is not meant to produce continually. Good farmers (and even novice gardeners) know the benefits of crop rotation, including allowing each part of your field a turn to lie fallow for an entire growing season. The field benefits from being idle for a season, preferably covered by a thick layer of compost that builds nutrients back into the soil. After a field lies fallow, its yield is much higher than it would otherwise have been.

Yet, the capitalistic drive (and the need for farms to survive) has generally removed the idea of a fallow field. Farmers need a yield from every acre, so they haul in artificial fertilizers to add nutrients to the soil. Yet, still, production declines. And the fertilizers have their side effects. The only way for a field to produce fruit to its full potential is to spend some lying fallow.

Looking at the garden reminds me of this simple truth that my body inherently knows, but my culture has taught me to deny. We all need fallow seasons. We try to keep boosting ourselves with artificial fertilizers (I like to use chocolate and caffeine), yet they never seem to work for long and they have their side effects. We need something more; or, should I say, we need something less. So when I come in out of the cold and desire nothing more than to go upstairs with a cup of hot tea and cover myself with a down blanket and spend the rest of the day reading and napping, it's not just a manifestation of Seasonal Affective Disorder. It's my body knowing what I need. We all need to lie fallow. We crave time to allow ourselves to be rebuilt through nothing more than rest.

I'm off to lie fallow for a week. Not under a blanket of snow, but under the Mexican sun. Oh, the vacation will have plenty of running around. It's not a true Sabbatical. Yet I will take fallow as fallow comes. And I sincerely wish the same for you.