It’s 5:30; the sun is seeping into my room, waking me with its warm rays. I roll over and hop out of bed. It’s a Saturday morning in mid-July.

Under most circumstances, this would be wildly inappropriate; however, the peaceful, beautiful vegetable patch I pass en route to the main farm house somehow compensates for my sleep deprivation.

Months prior, upon scrambling to design a “restful-but-productive-and-recharging” summer, I decided I wanted to work on a farm.  Many phone calls and emails later (typically exchanged during the procrastinating periods before prelim season), I arranged to spend my July in Warner, New Hampshire as a farmhand on a small organic family farm. With only a few paragraphs and pictures on their website, I knew not what to expect. And so, on a morning in late June, I boarded a train to Boston, where after a quick meal I transferred onto a bus headed to Concord, New Hampshire. 

Excited, nervous, unsure – I was wholly unprepared for what was to come – this in many ways was the purpose of going.  That is, apart from being a Jersey girl majoring in Agricultural Science without any real life farm experience. 

Quickly, I became acquainted with my new living situation, the farm crew, and my daily routine (or lack thereof). My time was spent in fields weeding, in the kitchen sharing thoughts, and in local swimming holes relaxing.  There was no “typical day.” Tasks were completely dependent on what needed to be done. From trellising tomatoes to picking carrots to watering, there were a million jobs coinciding simultaneously. Though we were constantly in motion, we rarely felt stressed.  Of course, if one were to stop in around one pm on a Tuesday or Wednesday, when orders were due, chaos was in full swing. As the season progressed and full harvest was upon us, all workers found themselves starting days at ungodly hours and working as long as light would allow. 

Ironically, as a farm crew, we often embraced the work.  I often found simple tasks like weeding to be therapeutic; the rhythm forced me to focus.  Group jobs built camaraderie and fostered a strong connection between us. The everyday beauty entwined in our jobs was rewarding in itself.  I can remember the first day I picked and cleaned garlic; I marveled at its simple, natural, totally organic beauty.  There is also a distinct fulfillment gained after scavenging for potatoes, it’s reminiscent of digging for some sort of treasure. 

Of course, there were days that our bodies rebelled against us. Muscles ached and eyes were heavy – we were completely exhausted.  There were also days of intense, unyielding heat that felt endless.  But somehow the exhausted and frustrated moments were overpowered by moments in which I would see a crop to fruition or finish what once seemed like an impossible order.

Make no mistakes: farming is not all beauty and joy. In fact, the lifestyle is relentless and incredibly difficult.  Plants do not stop growing because the weekend is here. Animals will until they’re fed. When it didn’t rain for ten days, crops suffered.  The farmers constantly stressed about having enough for our orders and markets.  And regardless of weather, income fluctuations depend on the markets of that week and create lifestyle constrains: no health insurance, no vacations, etc.  Living on the farm, I was immersed in the experience, presented intimately with complex, large problems demanding some sort of larger-scale reform. 

I also realized that despite being a self-proclaimed environmentalist, the weather and its antics has never truly impeded my existence as a person. For about ten consecutive days, it did not rain at all. The scorcher was doing a number on the plants (and workers). One afternoon, while one of us showered, another worker was watering the greenhouse simultaneously. Immediately after, we noticed something: the water was not running anymore. Under the circumstances: more workers than usual, unbearable heat, no rain, and newly planted crops in need of watering – we managed to dry out the well.  Apart from the basic realization that showering would be an issue, we realized collectively what it means to overuse our resources.  For the first time in my life, the fact that it had not rained would do something more than ruin a kayaking trip.   

 Everything about my time on the farm was uncomfortable in some respect. I lived in a trailer in the middle of a vegetable patch alone. I was in a rural, small town setting in a state I’d never previously visited with strangers. I spent my last night picking beans with the moon as my flashlight. Work days were long and I was unpaid. But somehow, my summer was incredible and filled with all sorts of lessons.  Learning how to organize an order, feeling the joy that comes with selling fresh, wonderful food,   and realizing my own adaptability were just a few of the thoughts materialized.