Humus, humility, humanity—they’re linked. There are more living organisms in a teaspoon of soil than there are people on Earth. We’re more connected to the stuff underneath our feet than we’ll ever know.

And I love that. I love knowing that there are worlds I can’t see and can’t know. Have you ever held a palmful of sun-warmed, fluffy black soil? It’s like holding a secret universe.

These photos are from last week, when we put the last of the transplants and spring seeds in the ground (and wore the last of the shorts). Bulbs and corms will get planted over the next few weeks. I love tucking fall things into the ground knowing what they’ll become in the spring.

I farm to be uncomfortable, to work past my limits and to realize, then, that they weren’t really limits at all.

I farm to be exposed to rot and heat and cold and failure because those things are real, and I am committed to being friendly with reality.

It seems to me that to protect or distance myself from what’s hard or gross or painful is to forget what humans are and what we’re capable of.

Comfort kills courage and character. No, thanks.

Beauty grows out of pain if you know how to tend the ground.