Finding Patience: Reflecting on the Teen Farm Fellowship

Gucci Ginsberg (they/them) is the Teen Farm Fellow Lead and part of Veg Crew at Cedar Circle. Originally from the Berkshires, MA, Gucci now lives in White River Junction, VT. When they’re not on the farm, you can find them climbing trees, writing poetry, or practicing yoga.

My car kicked up dust as I pulled into the parking lot and waved familiarly to the man parked next to me. I shuffled into the yellow farmhouse, where I was greeted by the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of hushed voices in the upstairs office. I introduced myself to the Vegetable Production Lead, Phoebe, and we made our way over to Greenhouse 4, where she showed me how to seed lettuce in trays. Snow fell sporadically, instantly melting on the warm plastic cover of the greenhouse. Quite cozy, indeed, if it weren’t the beginning of April. This day of quiet concentration and learning was the first of many—102 days to be exact—and was a chilly yet welcoming way to start my second season at Cedar Circle, and my first as the Teen Farm Fellowship Lead.

Over the past five months, I have learned how to transplant, harvest, and care for the crops, but perhaps most importantly, I have developed the art of patience. While I do not claim to have mastered patience—probably a journey that will extend beyond my passing—this season was crucial in not only understanding the importance of patience, but also living it. This practice began on my very first day, when I seeded lettuce and peppers in the greenhouse, and I eagerly anticipated the day we would harvest and enjoy our bounty. I soon let my anticipation fall away as I learned that we would not harvest peppers until mid-July. Secretly, though, I checked on the seeds we planted every few days, hoping that they would sprout and grow magically overnight; I was let down each time. This period of stubbornly awaiting the cotyledons to emerge from the soil was my first and longest lesson in patience.

May came in all her rainy glory, and our days were spent harvesting asparagus and transplanting lettuce and brassicas. Each tiny plant sat perfectly in straight rows, soaking up the rainy goodness that poured down from the clouds and breathing in the sunshine through rapidly growing leaves. By early June, we were harvesting lettuce and strawberries, and planting melons and cucurbits in damp, bare soil. At the end of June, most plants were in the ground, and harvest was well underway; the only thing left for me to do was welcome the Teen Farm Fellows to the farm.

The day they arrived, the Fellows were quiet and nervous, mostly keeping to themselves. I worried—would I have to do all the talking for three months? Would anyone volunteer for chores? Would they be friends? Slowly, they crawled from their shells, stretching in the sun and muddying their faces as they wiped sweat from their eyes. July came, the air heavy with damp heat that trickled down our aching backs as we bent to harvest kale, chard, scallions, lettuce, and the very first blueberries. The Teens’ voices echoed through the fields as we cheered and sang our way throughout the day. I realized then that everything I had feared, had slipped away. We sang along to songs in the car on the way to our service learning trips, and bonded over our shared love of animals and working in a community.

The very last day of the program, on August 15th, I wrote each Fellow a note. While they each bore different words, the sentiment remained; that I was proud to have watched them learn and grow over the past three months. My crew of five Fellows worked hard, and I am confident that they will succeed in their future endeavors.

As September blows its breeze through my open office window, I practice gratitude for my Fellows for teaching me the importance of finding joy in the mundane. Each seed we planted together will grow, and until the harvest, I will revel in the final breaths of summer. May we delight in Earth’s gifts and remember that with patience, change will come.