A Spring Poem for Gardeners

//A Spring Poem for Gardeners

A Spring Poem for Gardeners

Henry David Thoreau. Walt Whitman. Wendell Berry. So many of our great writers have been environmentalists, gleaning wisdom from their natural surroundings and translating it onto the written page. Robert Frost certainly belongs in this category as well, and while reading poetry during breakfast recently, I came across this gem that I had never read before.

Robert Frost saw 88 winters and 87 springs. The man knew what he was talking about.

Robert Frost saw 88 winters and 87 springs. The man knew what he was talking about.

Unharvested

A scent of ripeness from over a wall.
And come to leave the routine road
And look for what had made me stall,
There sure enough was an apple tree
That had eased itself of its summer load,
And of all but its trivial foliage free,
Now breathed as light as a lady’s fan.
For there had been an apple fall
As complete as the apple had given man.
The ground was one circle of solid red.

May something go always unharvested!
May much stay out of our stated plan,
Apples or something forgotten and left,
So smelling their sweetness would be no theft.

—Robert Frost

There’s so much in this poem for gardeners and farmers to appreciate, especially now that spring is on our doorstep. This time of year, our focus falls entirely on production: tilling and toiling, seeding and sowing. As the soil awakens so do we, our winter longing for lush gardens and green pastures no longer a dream but reality at last. For the next several months, our harvest will appear right before our eyes.

April showers bring...

April showers and May flowers.

Yet here is Frost, offering greater insight. He implores us to ‘unharvest’: that as we reap our summer bounty, we remember to leave something behind. The poem encourages us to intentionally break from our ‘stated plan’ and participate in the natural circle of life (symbolized by the ring of red apples). Emphasizing his point, he uses the word ‘unharvested’ only once, but places an exclamation point after it.

As a farmer myself, I couldn’t agree with him more. On our farm, we graze our pastures to maximize the amount of trampled grass and manure that will be left behind. The animals get all the nutrition they need, but in their wake the soil is nourished by the leftover grass and litter. It’s by intentionally ‘unharvesting’ the pasture that we can accelerate fertility, retain greater soil moisture and vastly increase bio-diversity. (For more on this point, Alan Savory recently delivered this amazing TedTalk, and Ruth Stout offers these inspiring gardening lessons). As Frost suggests in the final line, this is the sweet smell of success.

Kids and clover: a sure sign that spring has sprung!

Kids, clover and hayseeds, a sure sign that spring has sprung!

Ironic, isn’t it, that by not taking everything that nature has to offer, we end up creating more? To quote Frost, “May something always go unharvested!”

As winter melts into spring, we have so much to be grateful for. Beyond seeds and sunshine, let’s give thanks—For thoughtful gardeners, the wisdom of poets, and contemplative spring breakfasts with an open book on the kitchen table.

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By | 2015-09-22T09:27:55+00:00 March 27th, 2013|Farm|7 Comments

About the Author:

Forrest Pritchard is a full-time sustainable farmer and New York Times bestselling author, holding a BA in English and a BS in Geology from William & Mary. Smith Meadows, his farm, was one of the first “grass finished” operations in the country, and has sold at leading farmers’ markets in Washington DC for nearly two decades. Pritchard's first two books received starred reviews from The Washington Post, Publishers Weekly, Library Journal and NPR, and his latest book is set to debut in 2018.

7 Comments

  1. Audrey March 28, 2013 at 2:23 pm - Reply

    What a perfect poem for Spring. How lovely to feed our poetic souls as well. Thanks for posting!

  2. Sandra Kalscheur March 29, 2013 at 10:34 am - Reply

    Thanks for sharing the poem, helped my day immensely and for adding your own poetic words. You are indeed a poet farmer!

  3. Melanie May 4, 2013 at 12:59 pm - Reply

    My father was given a small iron trivet by our neighbor many, many years ago with the following inscription:

    “The kiss of the sun for pardon,
    The song of the bird for mirth
    One is nearer God’s heart in a garden
    Than anywhere else on earth.”

    This is now attached to the fence surrounding my father’s small “kitchen garden.”
    I don’t know the author, but the words stay with me always.

  4. Josh June 6, 2013 at 11:44 am - Reply

    There ain’t no disciple of Spring more vivacious and sublime than my favourite, e.e.cummings. The journal devoted to him actually has that name. Here’s one of my favs:

    O sweet spontaneous
    earth how often have
    the
    doting

    fingers of
    prurient philosophers pinched
    and
    poked

    thee
    , has the naughty thumb
    of science prodded
    thy

    beauty, how
    often have religions taken
    thee upon their scraggy knees
    squeezing and

    buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
    gods
    (but
    true

    to the incomparable
    couch of death thy
    rhythmic
    lover

    thou answerest

    them only with

    spring)

    • Forrest Pritchard June 6, 2013 at 1:13 pm

      Love me some e.e.! And little goat footed balloon men whistling far and wee!

      :^)

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