I lunged at the chicken, but with a loud "bwahk!"
it scurried out of my reach. Behind me, 25 kindergartners giggled.
Watching their guide catch a chicken was one of the most entertaining
parts of the pumpkin farm tour. Finally, I got my hands on a black
Australorp hen. I scooped her into my arms and brought her out of the pen.
Children crowded around to pet her.
"She’s so soft!"
"Look at her eyes!"
"Let Sophie have a turn!"
As the farm’s communications director, my job usually
involves talking with reporters and politicians about the importance of
protecting local farmland. But one of our school tour leaders was gone, so
I found myself talking to kindergartners instead.
"How do bees help us on the farm?" I asked,
unwrapping the observation hive.
"They make honey," said one boy.
"That’s right. What else?"
"They gather nectar," suggested a girl.
"Yes. And when they do, they pollinate our plants.
That helps the flowers grow into fruits or vegetables." I put the
blanket back over the hive.
"Now we’re going to see another animal." I
made the ASL sign for goat--horns and a beard. "Can you think of an
animal with horns and a beard?"
"Goats!"
The children responded to each step of the tour with
wide-eyed enthusiasm. They stopped to examine worms and beetles, oohed as
a crow chased a Kestrel overhead, and admired the rye grass covering the
field where the summer squash had grown. Parent chaperones shivered in the
damp, morning air. They looked like they’d rather be at Starbuck’s.
Over in the greenhouse, Farmer Nancy talked about how
seeds grow. In her clear soprano voice, she sang "Guess what’s
hiding in a seed?" The children followed the hand motions.
We left the greenhouse and walked toward the back field.
We took seeds from the heads of sunflowers planted by school children last
spring. We stopped at the herb garden to smell the leaves of the
"plant helpers." We examined a scarecrow, looking dapper--but
not that scary--in one of my old shirts.
Then it was on to the pumpkin patch. Some children
studied one pumpkin after another. Others decided the first one they saw
would do just fine.
"Mine’s stuck," a boy in a yellow slicker
told me. I helped him break it off the vine.
"Look!" yelled a girl. "A gerbil ate this
one!"
I knelt to examine the hollowed-out rind.
"Actually, it’s a little cold at the farm for gerbils," I told
her.
Moms armed with Sharpie pens wrote names on pumpkins and
put them into sacks. It was time to head back to school.
Recognizing and appreciating our connection with God’s
creation is a hallmark of spirituality. It’s something that children
know instinctively. They sense the wonder of a chicken, the holiness of a
goat, the blessing of herbs, the majesty of a falcon, the mystery of
sunflower seeds. I don’t have to tell them how good this is.
Adults forget. To adults I explain that sustainable
farming supports the local economy, protects the environment, and ensures
a source of fresh, nutritious food. I argue that we can’t afford to pave
over such a valuable resource.
But it really comes down to what the children already
know: Small, organic farms are a place to discover and celebrate our
connection with life, to affirm the age-old blessing of tilling the land
and enjoying its bounty.
The children lined up to get on the bus. "Thank
you, farmer Chris!" they chorused.
"You’re welcome," I said. "Thanks for
visiting the farm!"
