Notes from a Resting Field

"A field that rests is not a field that has given up. It is a field refusing to be emptied."

I am the field behind the old barn, this is what I would say if you could hear me.

Last year you asked me for everything. Wheat in spring, beans in summer, a second crop when I was already tired. I gave it, because that is what fields do.

This year you looked at me, empty and quiet, and called me wasted.

Let me tell you what is happening beneath this stillness.

The roots of last season are breaking down into something darker and richer. The rain I could not hold while working is settling into me. Small creatures are returning to tunnel and turn me over, doing quietly what no plough ever could.

I am not idle, I am being rebuilt.

You know a version of this too. You call it "being behind" when your energy dips, when the ideas would not come, when you need a week of doing nothing. You scold yourself and push harder, like a farmer who thinks a tired field needs more seed.

Force a field to yield without rest, and in a few seasons it yields nothing at all.

So take your fallow season without guilt. Sleep, walk slowly, stare at the sky. What looks like standing still is the work that makes the next harvest possible.

I will see you at planting time, and I will be generous.

Your mind is wiser now, share this piece to enrich the mind of your people.