There's a 100-year old barn on our family farm. I don't know when exactly or who built it but it's structurally sound aside from a janky roof. Adjacent to said barn, there is a small lot that has always been deemed "The Pony Lot".
As kids, my dad bought each of us kids a baby calf. We bottle-fed in that old barn and used the field for grazing to raise our little cows. We had horses that called that pasture home over the years and for a decade or so, we had 3 miniature ponies that lived there too. The little ones didn't contribute much but then again, that's not a requirement of our freeloading pets.
A few years ago, with our cattle and farm pet days behind us, we burned and converted that pony lot from fescue grass into a wildflower field. When you burn off a field, a neat thing happens. There are a litany of native seeds in the soil just patiently waiting until it's their time to shine. It's called a seed bank and it can give you a cornucopia of forbs that have been hibernating for years or even decades in the dirt.
Another part of the process of converting a field into wildflowers, in the first year, the plants focus a majority of their energy on their roots. In the vein of longevity, they don't bloom much that initial year. Focus on what keeps you grounded before exerting yourself. Seems wise.
When we think of wildflowers, we envision a picturesque, vibrant field festooned with colors. And that does eventually happen, but for the cold months, those plants are dry, dead and crispy. In other words, they're kind of ugly. But in that dryness, the dead plants hold the seeds for the coming spring season. So even in their less aesthetic phase, they're gearing up for their next chapter of growth.
In progression of development following the burn and growing of wildflowers, we started housing a handful of bee hives along the edge of this same old pasture. Shameless plug, message me if you want to buy some unfiltered, delicious, homegrown, great-on-bread and in tea, honey. (Too salesy?) Ponies + wildflowers + bees = honey. It's a classic American agricultural equation.
Fast forward to when I bought my house in the city. I did the green thumb routine of building a raised bed garden to properly christen the new home. Given the decades of equine fertilizer, I naturally scooped soil from the pony lot to incubate my future urban-grown veggies. Fun aside, when unloading the nutrient-laden soil, I found an arrowhead, which was a good reminder of those who lived off that land before us. They used rock, I use metal. Who knows what material the future AI robot gardeners will use?
I've had a garden for a few years now, and the drug that keeps me coming back, is growing the whole damn thing from seeds starting in my garage in the doldrums of February. Eating a summer time meal that you started from seed hits differently. Back when people named their kids Augustus and Eunice, saving seeds was a necessity. Now we hobby-farmers do it for sport.
Within the pastime of saving seeds, I've started selective harvesting and keeping seeds from the biggest and brightest of produce. In theory, just like two pro athletes combining their competitive advantages into a progeny, I should get bigger and better squash and tomatoes year over year.
As we enter the season that forces a lot of us to slow down for a breath, it's a good reminder to reflect back on the year. Even if 2025 has been a tough one, just like the unsightly season of wildflowers, winter can hold a lot of hope for the chapter to come. Plus, with selective harvest and getting back to your core strengths (roots), next year could be your bumper crop.
New in my life: My grocery has a good selection of non-alcoholic beers. Creativity requires diligence. The Big Piney River starts in Cabool, MO.
Keep smilin,
Joe
