The roots of sustainability run deep

Perhaps it’s midday as you read this – so I’ll ask you: Have you had lunch?

It’s a question my colleague Anélia often asks me while we’re working at Common Table Farm. Anélia knows I have a habit of working without taking enough breaks. I appreciate how they watch out for me with that simple question. Sustainability is woven into the day when we remind each other that we’re creatures who need care. We aren’t robots, and we don’t need to be martyrs. Sustainability isn’t just a buzz word – it’s within the fabric of community.

As an urban farmer, I have a compelling reason to love winter: it’s the precious time of year when I can rest. We’ve seen milder winters in Toronto because of climate change, but this year felt like a real winter again. In a capitalist society of endless productivity, taking a moment to gaze at snow feels like giving yourself permission to take a breath. If only our work cycles had more latitude! Might sustainability be within easier reach if we could allow ourselves more of that slower-paced time that we all seem to crave?

Inevitably, winter ends and spring peeks up through the brown mulch and melting slush. The push toward planting season comes swiftly, and the pace quickens. Our farm’s upcoming season will be exciting, as one of our long-term dreams comes true: we’ll be installing a new greenhouse, thanks to the generosity of the Meighen Family Foundation!

If you’ve been tracking our little farm, you may remember that last year was tough. The excessive rains caused a lot of issues – the saddest story being the loss of our tomatoes to blight. With a new greenhouse, heat-loving crops will benefit from shelter and extra heat. We are hopeful that yields will improve for our most popular crops, meaning that more produce will reach residents of Flemingdon Park.

A new greenhouse will require lots of learning with the ins and outs of greenhouse management. It will also serve as a unique educational space for youth attending workshops and our summer intensive. I’ll be honest: I’m not the courageous type when it comes to facing a new logistical challenge. Feeling green to farm management, anxiety is quick to creep in. All the details that need to be tracked in a season can be overwhelming, and my perfectionism frets about messing things up. It’s easy to look ahead and begin to dread the coming oven-hot days when the weeds are taking over and there’s too much to do.

All this worry leads me to reflect on what keeps me here, committed to our farm’s work. What sustains me? Last season’s harvest open house stands out. Strangers and old friends alike came to visit. It was joyful to see folks sitting at the picnic tables, enjoying the afternoon autumn sun. Our summer staff – Flemingdon Park youth busy with their young lives – volunteered their Saturday to come back and help. One of our volunteers drove downtown to pick up a musician who was playing at our event. Sustainability is possible when many pitch in. It’s a gift when we can gather with the purpose of communal celebration. The open house was a satisfying day that reminded me of why the farm matters.

Trying to survive year to year as a charity is an uphill battle. But as I witness community pitching in, I learn that the roots of sustainability run deep. The word sustainability comes from older words that mean “give support to,” “keep from falling or sinking,” “hold up” and “withstand, endure without failing or yielding.” While the life of our farm is tenuous, a web of contributions holds us up. Donors and foundations support the work of feeding community with locally grown food. We are kept from sinking – from the overwhelming task list, from discouragement – by those who come alongside with their ready hands. Strangers become friends as we pull bindweed and pack peppers. We can withstand without yielding because of the enthusiasm brought by teachers and curious students. We endure because wonderful volunteers create a place of welcome. I keep upright because all those who are drawn to this farm bring a spirit of generosity, the bees included. I can withstand anxiety and burnout because my co-worker wisely asks if I’ve had lunch.

What sustains you? What web are you part of? In looking out for each other this coming season, we grow deeper roots of sustainability. That’s when beautiful things can happen.