Where Seedlings Grow

I took off my mother hat, put on my I-just-want-to-work-on-a-farm-hat. The one I was wearing when I first met Jacob. I planted pumpkin seeds and pulled out mare’s tail this evening after the children’s swim lessons.

It felt great. Dirt between my toes. Sprinkler hitting my back. The need to let it go – Farmer Jacob hands you several packs of seeds, points to a fresh row (still with weeds in it), says, “Plant them about yea apart – a foot, mix them up as you go.” There is very little fussing, no perfectionism, and a whole lot of hope and prayer. It’s a great exercise for the uptight-control-freak-mother hat wearer.

Where are the children? Surprisingly, not eating all of the Babybels, not screaming or fighting, and not on screens. The baby is naked, hair drenched, holding a hockey stick, waving from behind a rosemary bush. The other kids are flooding the back patio – and sweeping! Not totally desirable, though no harm done.

I strongly disagree with calling my children “feral” though I know it is in vogue these days. Have you looked up the definition of feral? I have, and it isn’t pretty. So, two of my children were naked, they were fending for themselves for snacks, their hair is often not brushed, and they’ll show up places without shoes on.

They do have manners. They have duties, chores, accountability. They aren’t in a dog-eat-dog relationship with one another. They are learning reverence, responsibility, and respect.

So while I appreciate that this movement of calling children “feral” is trying to catch something of their groundedness, naive charm, and unconcern for such trappings as clothes and shoes – I think it’s a term that misses the mark.

These children are little garden gnomes, spiritual creatures who love the bugs and cats, get excited about plants growing, and aren’t afraid to throw a dead lizard to the chickens.

I am immensely proud of them, and anticipate with great excitement the day they become let-me-just-work-in-the-dirt adults. (Although it’ll be fine if they move to the city, live in a condo, and never put their hands in soil).

In the meantime, the mother hat wearer’s house is a total wreck with all “normal” housewife/homebody activities put on hold or at least the back burner. Now I know why all of those successful business farmers I knew in my past life had such disasters of homes. And I thought they just had no housekeeping skills!

No, in this life of being a farm entrepreneur, and a family of four young children, some of the hats must go on the hook. And that is okay.

We are running a three week farm camp. While Jacob has the planting and building expertise, I’m exercising my Waldorf inspired muscles to guide the young children when they come for rest in the shade. We are actively creating something for these children.

It is exhausting! It is exilirating!

I am putting on my performer hat which honestly I use so little, and perform stories for them. I tap into my life with my brother who became a professional actor, and I let loose crowing the rooster fated to have his head chopped off from Bremen Town. I feel a little giddy as I am doing this… these children’s parents are paying me to do so!

Everyone is sitting at the table, pulling apart wheat seed heads with Farmer Jacob, and I’m the Storyteller, the wise Magi with the songs and verses to guide us. It is amazing how inspired I feel to share this magic with the children.

I only found out about Waldorf when I was already pregnant with my fourth child. I have not had the space to delve into Steiner directly to form my own opinions or takeaways. I have used two different homeschooling curricula, read a couple of books, listened to podcasts, and learned songs and poems. I am 100% sold on the method and want to pour it into my own children.

I feel alive and vibrant, whole in a way I haven’t experienced in some time. I’m going to ride the wave.