When I first began farming, I didn’t know much at all. I was eager to learn everything, from starting seedlings to saving seed. Shelling dry beans is one of the last steps of seed-saving. The first step involves growing the crop and allowing the plant to complete its whole life cycle. In the case of beans, that means allowing the legume to grow to maturity, flower and set its seed. Sometimes we designate a few plants for this purpose. Other times we simply collect the overly mature pods that were missed during harvesting and have become too fibrous for eating as fresh beans. We let the pods dry on the plant, then pick them and dry them further inside. A dehumidifier and a dry space are helpful at this stage – otherwise you may contend with mold issues.

Saving our own seed is a practical choice – it saves us some money from having to purchase seeds annually. It also means that the plants we grow from our own seed are becoming locally adapted to the conditions that we encounter on our farm. It’s a unique opportunity to engage youth with the life skills involved in this ancient farming practice. Because the school year doesn’t line up with the growing season, the farm is put to bed for a good number of months when students are in class. But we can still host students and show them the kinds of plants that we save seed from. Aside from beans, we collect from okra, bitter melon, lettuce, tomato, eggplant, pepper and various flowers. Youth are introduced to the incredible diversity of seeds from different crops and varieties, and learn how to collect and store them.

Seed-saving also connects our farm to the wider world of food sovereignty. The ability of growers and communities to maintain traditional foods and sustain their own food production is a key aspect of food sovereignty. Seeds are sacred in many cultures. For Indigenous and Black communities, seeds have been at the heart of histories of resistance to colonization and enslavement. Seeds continue to be at the forefront of food sovereignty battles, as small-scale farmers fight injustices imposed by multinational corporations. In a sea of bad news, it’s an intentional choice to celebrate good news when it comes. This past November, 15 Kenyan smallholder farmers won a legal battle challenging the government’s Seed and Plant Varieties Act. The law had criminalized the saving and exchanging of unregistered seeds, penalizing small-scale farmers while providing proprietary rights to commercial plant breeders. Let’s all cheer for these perservering farmers! They stood up for their rights to share indigenous seeds, preserving a practice that farmers have engaged in for countless generations. These farmers spoke the truth that the value of seeds runs much deeper than money.

A final step to saving bean seed: pop those shelled beans into the freezer. I’ve learned from experience that if you just store the beans after shelling, the notorious bean weevil may hatch and strike, eating up your saved beans and causing quite a bit of sadness! Freezing seems to kill off any potential eggs. After about a week in the freezer, remove the beans to dry fully again. Then store them in a paper envelope in a cool, dry place or airtight container until planting time.

Speaking of planting time: it will be quite busy again, soon enough. I’ll appreciate a few more weeks at a slower pace – cracking open the brittle pods, feeling the smooth roundness of the beans as they fall out (or sometimes fly out!), discarding the detritus of last year to be composted, and holding the promise of the coming season in my palms. On cold February afternoons, this is where I find hope in the deep dark beauty of winter.

To find out more about the urban farm or to support its work, contact Melodie Ng at cmelodie@flemingdonparkministry.com.

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This summer has been a tough one at Common Table Farm. By late August, six heat waves had blasted through Toronto, accompanied by multiple air quality warnings due to wildfire smoke. When you work outside, you see and feel the effects of climate change directly. Last season saw torrential rainfalls, while this year has been a drought. Climate extremes are happening in real time. And yet, the farm is a place where I experience hope. As I reflected on how we pulled through the season, I thought about our farm’s neighbours.

Gary lives nearby and is a keen gardener himself. In May, he showed up with boxes of home-grown seedlings. His gift could not have come at a better time! Our own seedlings had faced germination issues and were also slowed down by voles munching on them after being transplanted. Gary’s seedlings meant that we were still able to provide many tomatoes, eggplants and peppers to the community, while we waited for our own plants to catch up.

Marianne and Jessie also live in the neighbourhood. They both volunteered on weekends, responding cheerily to my texts asking for help with watering in the greenhouse. With such a hot summer, daily watering was required for many months. Marianne and Jessie offered us the gift of their proximity, freeing our staff to have precious weekends to rest.

We met (and named) Carl one day while weeding the rows of corn. He was carefully tucked on a common milkweed leaf, his handsome yellow, black and white stripes identifying him as the endangered monarch caterpillar. Carl kept us entertained that day: we watched him trundle on the milkweed leaves and imagined his next phase of life. Carl’s presence buoyed us with hope. Our farm not only provides organic produce to Flemingdon Park; it also provides a pesticide-free home for a neighbour who faces declining habitat.

Bob lives further away from the farm than what might be considered a neighbour, but he has definitely acted neighbourly. I met him during a speaking engagement about our farm. He comes from a farming background, and we struck up a conversation. I learned that he was a labyrinth aficionado and was very keen to visit the small labyrinth installed in our pollinator garden. He came by to walk the labyrinth but also brought along a mower and volunteered to keep the pathways trimmed. This labyrinth has been one of those projects that was a great idea at the outset, but difficult to maintain; since we prioritize the vegetable crops, we often don’t have time to maintain it. Some years, it has been disappointingly overgrown and not very useable. What a gift Bob gave to us this season. It was wonderful having our labyrinth lovingly maintained by someone who deeply appreciates this feature of our farm!

A final neighbour of notable mention visited me on a hot August day. We had been hauling vegetables to Flemingdon Park for distribution. I was tired from driving back and forth, lifting heavy loads and fielding questions from community members. When I returned to the farm, I decided to take a moment’s rest. As I watched goldfinches flit to and fro, a fast-moving shape caught my eye. A ruby-throated hummingbird zipped past! She paused near the eggplants, then hovered by a trellis, drinking nectar from a bitter melon flower. I was entranced by this rare and special neighbour. While she was tiny and I only saw her for a brief moment, the joy and delight she gifted to me was tremendous.

This season was incredibly hot and dry, tough on the bodies of those working at the farm. But we have been blessed by remarkable and generous neighbours. They have gifted us with practical help, time and skill, sharing of resources and signs of ecological hope. Our warmest thanks to Gary, Marianne, Jessie, Carl, Bob and the hummingbird, for being the best neighbours any farm could ask for.

To learn more about the farm or to support its work, visit www.flemingdonparkministry.com.

The post The best neighbours a farm could ask for appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

Food is such an incredible site of flavour, memory, culture and satisfaction. Food connects us with the people we consider home, and to the lands and waters of our ancestors. At Common Table Farm – Flemingdon Park Ministry’s urban farm project – we have the joy of encountering the raw ingredients of food daily.

Flemingdon Park Ministry (FPM) recently celebrated the opening of a new space at 10 Gateway Blvd. in Toronto. Its bright interior will be a welcome gathering place for local residents, many of whom are newcomer women. People from all over the world find their way through our doors to have a cup of coffee, to join an English conversation class or to receive support, such as the veggie hampers provided by our farm.

Given the diversity of our community, I was curious to find out what vegetables are cherished. I asked several people what vegetable was special to them and why. Marianne, a volunteer farming with us for several seasons, contributed this reflection:

“In the past, when I thought of eggplant, I only envisioned the bell-shaped deep purple vegetable. But at the Common Table Farm, we grow several different varieties, including the long and skinny Asian eggplant, the striped white and purple round eggplant, and the grape-sized striped yellow-green African eggplant. I enjoy planting, staking, fertilizing and harvesting the various eggplant.”

Marianne points out that even in a single vegetable there can be so much glorious variety. This can be eye-opening to visitors to our farm. Supermarkets tend to stock the same varieties, usually those bred for uniformity and a long shelf life. We have become accustomed to thinking that a tomato or eggplant should only look a certain way.

Sitting around the table at FPM’s office, a few women shared about their favourite vegetables. Originally from Trinidad and Tobago, Joan grew up familiar with the root vegetable cassava. In the past, you had to travel to Spadina Avenue or shop at Caribbean stores to find it, but Joan has noticed that nowadays it’s much more readily available in Toronto. Cassava is made into pone – a sweet dessert. It is also boiled or added to soup. A specific food may be called one name in Trinidad and a different name in Jamaica.

The conversation then turned to okra. In Afghanistan, where Tourpikey is from, okra is known as bamia. I learned that okra not only makes a tasty dish but has incredible health benefits, such as helping with diabetes and blood pressure, improving your mood or even helping with constipation! The women suggested that okra be soaked in water overnight and the resulting water be consumed for these health benefits. Malalai chimed in, “When I’m upset, bring me chili, naan, and okra!” Other women joined in the discussion about harvesting and preparing okra, and dealing with its characteristic slime. In Trinidad, okra would be cooked with the leafy green callaloo. So many different cooking methods and recipes were being shared at once, I couldn’t keep up with recording it all! Tourpikey commented that while she loves okra, it can be expensive. Now knowing just how beloved this vegetable is, and how it can be unaffordable, I’m very honoured to be a farmer who can grow this crop for our community.

Okra is also special to a young woman connected to our farm. Gabrielle was a youth participant in our inaugural Young Farmer Program in 2023. She loved the farm so much that she came back a second (and now third!) summer as a seasonal employee. Gabrielle shared these thoughts:

“When I began working at the farm, I would always tell my family what vegetables I had a hand in growing. When I mentioned okra, my grandma’s face lit up. She was so excited to hear that it was so accessible to her, and it reminded her of her mother, who would often boil okra. Being someone of mixed descent, I often struggle feeling connected to all aspects of my culture, but when my grandma recalled the times of her mother boiling okra, I felt a step closer to a stronger connection to my cultural heritage. I think that the incorporation of fruits and vegetables from all parts of the world is what makes the farm so essential. When cultural, social and economic backgrounds differ, food is something that has the ability to bring everyone together, connecting previous memories to create new ones.”

Collective joy arises in sharing about specific foods and the treasured connections and memories they embody. We witness the beauty of our community through the foods we eat and love. Hungry yet? Maybe it’s time for that favourite food.

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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.

The post The roots of sustainability run deep appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

No Torontonian will soon forget the torrential rains that were dumped upon us this summer. As climate change stirs up extreme weather, we see the effects immediately at the farm. One weekend in early August, the weather swung from a heat wave to a couple of unseasonably cool nights. I arrived back at the farm on Monday and was shocked to discover rows of tomato plants looking like they’d seen the apocalypse. Weekly efforts to nourish the plants with compost teas and worm castings were all for naught. As the heavy rains came again and again over the summer – with too much humidity and too few sunny days to dry off the plants – I worried about the wet conditions propagating disease. And there it was: all the tomatoes hit with blight. Plants that had been lush in July were drooping dramatically with blotchy leaves. Tons of green tomatoes just waiting for sun-ripening, now blemished with lesions. It was devastating. It was discouraging not to be able to provide an abundant harvest of this much-loved crop to our community. With a drier September, some plants bounced back and provided fruit. But overall, the harvest was about a quarter of what we would have expected. After months of tending from seed, this was a bitter result.

There was not much to be done for this season’s tomatoes. But we can look forward and adapt for the future. We’re currently seeking funding for a greenhouse that would allow us to grow our hot crops with protection from excessive rains. We also look to this season’s successes and discover that there’s still much cause to celebrate. We grew our first watermelons! Our Young Farmer Program continued into its second year, with thanks to funding from the Anglican Foundation and KPMG Foundation. One of our 2023 youth participants enjoyed the experience so much, she eagerly reached out mid-winter to ask about summer jobs. Gabrielle turned out to be one of our most delightful summer workers yet – full of energy, initiative and laughter. We are honoured to be a farm where knowledge about food and farming is shared amongst young people who will go on to be leaders in our community.

This summer the farm was not only a place for growing food; it was also a gathering place for growing ideas. We welcomed graduate students taking a course entitled “Food/Justice, Farming and Faith” run by St. Michael’s College of the Toronto School of Theology. Students reflected on the challenges within our industrial food system while being present to the soil itself, all while completing practical farm tasks. It was a unique opportunity to practice embodied theology. We also hosted a wrap-up party for participants of Seneca College’s Toronto Urban Farming Training (TUFT). To the soundtrack of crickets and cicadas, we had an animated evening discussion about what kind of municipal policies could support urban agriculture.

The farm welcomed younger learners, too. Elementary school students sifted worm castings and planted native flowers. Here’s a snapshot of the kind of journey that kids experience here:

“I remember the composting and worm poop parts most… At first, I thought it was disgusting, but after I saw people having so much fun, I decided to give it a shot. It turned out to be really fun (except the earwigs and worms).”

Another student remarked: “I really felt good because it was my first time planting a plant. I remembered there were little grubs in the soil and an ant nest.”

It’s pretty special that this is a place where kids experience the soil and its inhabitants for the first time. The farm deepens our understanding of how soil, seeds, microbes, water and the sun come blessedly together to create food for all beings.

Farming is not all roses and sunshine. We have our share of trials and crop failures. But we are proud to be part of a larger food and eco-justice movement that invites people to see how environmental issues, our food system and our own relationships to land are all intricately connected. No matter what kind of season we have – blight or no blight – we experience flourishing here!

To learn more about Common Table Farm and to support its work, visit www.flemingdonparkministry.com. Flemingdon Park Ministry is a ministry of the Diocese of Toronto.

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The Common Table Farm came through a tough season last year. We faced a funding cliff that threatened to close our farm; it was an incredibly stressful time! Thankfully, with the support of many generous people, we have been able to secure enough funds for another season. We’re thrilled to be able to continue growing food for folks in need of support and nurturing hands-on learning for kids and youth.

As I gear up for the coming season, I thought I’d turn to our core volunteers to hear about what they find meaningful about the farm and share their thoughts with you.

Andrew never shies away from a tough job: he will take on flipping compost or broad-forking, two tasks that require some muscle and plenty of fortitude. The first word that comes to his mind about our farm is “wholesome.” Andrew finds the farm refreshing and life-giving; he enjoys meeting good people here and finds the work satisfying.

Kristen is our intrepid learner – new to farming and eager to learn every step of the way. She appreciates the farm for what she describes as “the beautiful urban farm environment.”

Our farm is indeed a wonderful oasis. This green space is a precious gift within the density of Toronto. As city dwellers, it’s common to spend a lot of time indoors. Our farm offers an encounter with the daily shifts of weather, sunlight and temperature. Here we meet numerous plants, animals, insects and birds that populate our city. I have seen time and again just how healing this encounter is for many people. They are revived and invigorated as they spend time outdoors. As our produce packer extraordinaire Bishop Patrick White has observed, working directly with the soil deepens the experience of meaningful work.

For other volunteers, the word “community” stands out. Suzanne and Marianne are both incredibly dedicated volunteers who have been hanging out with us since 2022. They honed in on our ethos of growing not only food but community. We experience this at the farm, growing both individually and collectively as we plant, maintain the garden, and harvest. As Masanobu Fukuoka astutely observes, we are not only farming plants. We plant seeds for new friendships and connections, we contribute to each other’s “maintenance” through weekly conversations, and we harvest the fruit of all this collective work – a sense of well-being, purpose and fulfillment.

Natalie, who volunteers with her son Ben, finds the farm “supportive.” It brings to my mind the many ways we try to farm in a responsible manner, providing literal supports for climbing plants, avoiding tillage to support the soil’s health, and not using pesticides to protect the earth. I am heartened to hear that the farm also supports people! We can each find welcome here. The farm provides a nurturing scaffold where everyone belongs. Not only that, it is “fun” – Ben’s word for the farm! Having a good time is indispensable and not to be underestimated!

Which leads us to Mary’s descriptor for the farm: “gratitude.” Mary started volunteering with us after participating in a compost tea workshop. The farm certainly is a place of thanksgiving. We thrive because of the contributions of many, whether it’s a foundation that can provide funding, someone who can donate a financial gift or flower seeds, a volunteer who can tackle a thistle patch, a summer worker who helps to train others, agency partners who lend equipment, a bee pollinating our eggplant row, microbes who keep our soil healthy, or the dragonfly who graces us with her beauty…

Gratitude is around us at the farm, in every seed that germinates. It culminates when we harvest to share fresh food with others, knowing it will be enjoyed around their table. There is so much to be grateful for when we realize our dependence on each other, the earth and the Spirit that draws us into this collective work.

I know that I am being cultivated as a human being at the Common Table Farm. I am grateful for this place and the people who make it what it is!

To learn more about the farm or to support its work, visit www.flemingdonparkministry.com.

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It’s a question posed in genuine curiosity, but nevertheless it tends to stir up some inner defensiveness in me. I feel a need to explain that our farm staff are still busy; that our labour hours and employment are justified. If I take a step back, however, I realize that this question opens up an interesting space for reflection. The farm in winter offers a precious invitation – the call to rest from productivity. In Toronto, our climate cycles through four seasons. There have been some years when our farm team tried extending the growing season, using hoop tunnels to grow greens into the winter. While this was a worthy experiment, it taught us that just because you can do something doesn’t always mean that you need to. It’s highly unpleasant to harvest kale when ice cements your hoop coverings to the ground, and your fingers freeze as you work! We realized that it was ridiculous to keep pushing, when all around us the trees were bare and insects were hibernating. The land told us it was time to rest.

This time of “not doing” is still full of meaningful being. While our farm looks inactive, underneath the insulating blanket of mulch and snow are worms and microbes who continue to break down organic matter. For some plants, germination is improved by a period of experiencing cold – a process called vernalization. Garlic is a crop that benefits from being planted in the fall, which gives it a head start in establishing. Lying dormant over winter, the garlic is ready for quick growth in the spring. Land, plants and creatures alike are waiting and readying for the next season in different ways. Meaningful work is still happening in winter; it’s just of a different nature from the activity of spring, summer and fall.

For the farm team, the time of “not doing” is also full of meaningful being. We are resting our bodies. By the end of the season, as we rush to finish harvest and close up the farm before the cold hits, we are stretched thin by an accumulative mental and physical exhaustion. Common Table Farm operates on a human scale, striving to grow produce in ecologically sensitive ways. For us, this means extensive manual labour and an avoidance of heavy machinery and products such as pesticides. We lean into the joy and challenge of doing many tasks with simple hand tools and by the sweat of our brows. It might sound idyllic, but it also means aching backs and sore muscles! Our approach requires that we lean into the need for community. Our farm relies on the passion of volunteers, neighbours, groups and youth – together, we manifest the people power needed to grow food in ways that support the health of the soil. In order to sustain this approach from season to season, it is essential to allow for rest and recovery.

Since stepping into the seasonal life of a farmer, I’m struck by how differently I now experience time and work rhythm. Previously, I had been normalized to a round-the-clock work schedule with no significant changes in rhythm. Work weeks simply kept going, aside from vacation and holiday time. Since becoming a farmer, it’s been beautiful to experience a workflow that closely embodies the seasonal time of the region in which I live. I love how this line of work allows me to become more aware of the natural world, with all its transitions in temperature, amount of daylight and weather patterns. I am invited to notice how other living beings respond to these seasonal changes and take my cue accordingly.

As I write this in January, I’m reluctant to begin thinking about the upcoming season. I’m still at the stage where exhaustion leaves me never wanting to see another vegetable again! But something switches around late February and March. Maybe it’s that the daylight hours become noticeably longer. Some uncanny magic happens: there’s an itch to get back outside and an excitement to look through our store of seeds. What could we grow this year? Is there a new crop to try?

In truth, during the winter months we are still quite active. Our farm staff support Flemingdon Park Ministry’s other community programs. We take time to do much needed organizing of our storage space. We work on crop planning, write grant reports and brainstorm for new projects. We collaborate with students and facilitate workshops. In February, we begin seeding leeks and onions. By March, our seedling production begins in earnest. Our “off time” can often feel full of bustling community activity.

But when I return to the farm on a snowy day and stand on the land, I am called back to stillness. The true value of this time is the pause that calms the churning drive for productivity. Our North American culture prides itself in achievement and growth. These are not necessarily bad things. But pursued without balance, the relentless work culture can be soul-crushing. I take in a breath of cold winter air. The land speaks through its muted colours: Hold up. Stand still for once. Breathe in the fullness of all that’s been given in the past season – all that nourishment, hard work and collaboration. Hold that for a while, in rest, before you begin again.

The post The land told us it was time to rest appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

We look up from weeding in the kale beds. A young girl’s voice calls to us from the other side of the fence, where children from Three Valleys Public School tear through the schoolyard during recess. She extends her small arm through the chain link fence, offering us some flowers she has picked. We walk over to accept her beautiful gift and offer back some flowers to her and her friends.

“What are you doing? What’s growing over there?” Bright eyes, noticing everything. They are curious about what so many of us city-dwelling adults have become immune to – the life right before us. In every plant and patch of soil we mindlessly walk (or drive) past is a world of life rooted in the sustaining Earth.

At the Common Table Farm, we grow local organic produce in the Don Mills area. These fresh veggies are distributed at no cost to families and seniors experiencing food insecurity. The farm is a project of Flemingdon Park Ministry, an Anglican charity working in the neighbourhood of Flemingdon Park for many years. We grow thousands of pounds of food each season. A farm in an urban centre like Toronto offers much more than food, however. There are so many opportunities to connect people with the Earth, with each other and with curiosity.

Last spring, Anélia Victor joined our team as the Urban Farmer & Educator. Here she shares about last season and what we look forward to in 2023:

“Can you grow dragon fruit at your farm?”

For the past year, I have heard such wonderful quotes from children, teens and adults during our workshops. As I started this position, I was excited to create educational workshops for folks living in Flemingdon Park and the area surrounding our farm. Since I am coming to almost a year in this position, I want to share the joyous moments we created as an urban farm community to teach others the importance of growing food and caring about the land that provides so much to us.

Starting in March 2022, we ran two workshops with guest facilitator Tim Martin, teaching students about the benefits of pollinating plants and bugs. The children played a fun game mimicking the flight patterns of various pollinating bugs and learned how predators can disrupt the pollination process.

Next, in August our farm hosted a community pizza-making workshop. Participants from ages 4 to 60 learned how to knead pizza dough, build a pizza using fresh ingredients from our farm, and cook a pizza using a griddle on the stovetop. After the workshop, our summer staff member Kalia distributed tote bags with pizza flour, yeast and recipes to make your own dough and pizza at home.

We ended the year with two new educational partnerships that will bring opportunities to teach the community at large. We have created a three-part workshop with Three Valleys Public School, teaching children the life cycle of vegetables – from saving seeds and planting seedlings to having dedicated beds to grow their own food. As well, we were awarded a grant from Telus to build a youth program to teach Flemingdon Park students from grades 10 to 12 how to grow their own vegetables and nurture the land.

We can learn how to nurture the land and, at the same time, the Earth nurtures us in more ways than one.

“I learned bats pollinate.” “Bees make food.” “How do you pick out the plants you want to grow?” “I want to know, do pollinators eat pollinators?” “I like seeing the flowers.” “What are those white things in dirt?”

Upon visiting the farm, students are bursting with thoughts and questions. These children will inherit what we older folks leave for them of this Earth. Our modern, urban lives tend to dissociate us from the physical world around us and the food systems that feed us. So much depends on the bats, the bees, the flowers and the white things in the dirt! Perhaps significant shifts could take place in how we relate to the Earth if we learn to become curious again.

This season the farm will be humming with learning activities, even as we keep on weeding around that kale. We look forward to hearing many more inquisitive questions – from young and old – as we farm and learn together.

To find out more about the Common Table Farm or to support its work, contact melodie@flemingdonparkministry.com or visit www.flemingdonparkministry.com.

The post Urban farm hums with activity appeared first on The Toronto Anglican.

Constrained by funds, we were unable to hire seasonal workers until later in the season. This meant that seedlings were late going into the ground, which led to stunted plants. Then there were bean weevils and mice. Finding last year’s saved seed pockmarked by weevils and seedlings nibbled down overnight by mice is not a good way to start your morning. Last but not least, there were the incidents of theft. First a wheelbarrow was stolen, then all our pointed shovels disappeared (inexplicably, our flat-edged shovels were left untouched). With all these challenges rolling in one after the other, there were days – especially the 40C with humidex days! – when I felt ready to throw in the towel.

Thankfully, the wisdom of my farm mentor Amy nudged me in a more hopeful direction. In one of our conversations, she asked, “What brings you joy on the farm?” I realized that bitter melon was my joy. Bitter melon – known also as fu gua, karela, pavakkai, caraille, muop dang and ampalaya, among other names – is a part of cuisines and cultures as diverse as Toronto. This is my first try at growing bitter melon. It has been a delight, right from opening the packet of seeds. Bitter melon seeds are marvellous – large and odd-shaped, rough-looking like a piece of bark. My co-worker Mateo thought they looked like tiny turtles. As the first seedlings sprouted and grew, I noticed that even the young leaves smelled fragrant and bitter. I watched the plants begin to wind up the trellis, grabbing hold with tendrils thin and strong. At first glimpse of the bitter melon flower, I was a kid again – I waved over my co-worker Anélia, and together we marvelled at the delicate yellow petals. The tiny bumpy melon taking shape behind the flower brought much excitement to these farmers! We watched as the first pale green melons became rounder and fuller. This particular variety – “Big Top” – is harvested when “softball size.” Bitter melon is a highly nutritious and medicinal plant, well known to Caribbean, South Asian and East Asian communities. Even saving its seed is a fascinating, squishy delight – the overripe fruit bursts open to reveal a scarlet treasure chest of gloopy seeds.

Why wax poetic about a melon? Because these little guys tell me it’s all worth it. The days of battling weeds include a glimpse of a brilliant gold finch flitting through the farm. The dismay caused by diseased tomato plants coexists alongside the satisfaction of harvesting a bright yellow zucchini. The sound of water gushing from a broken irrigation pipe (cue much frustration) is followed by the discovery of fascinating cicada husks clinging to the wheel of a wheelbarrow. I’m privileged to farm in a context that allows me to stop and watch, wonder and enjoy. Our scale is human-sized. The farm demands that I work hard, but not at the expense of taking a moment to marvel at a darner dragonfly’s perfectly clear wings.

Our farm has not produced as much as planned this season. But our community continues to receive fresh vegetables through what the land is offering and through our partnerships with other farms. We can take care of soil, grow food and feed a community – and we find that every frustration and problem is part and parcel with the joys. Taking time to revel in bitter melon reminds me that this life is to be lived vibrantly and fully. I’m assured that it’s okay to face challenges. It’s okay that we’re not as productive as we had planned in the winter, when the season was imagined and idealized. Big Top reminds me that despite the challenges of farming, there is immense wonder in being nourished by the earth.

One sweltering day, our staff and volunteers took a break under the shade of the maples. Kristen commented that she loves coming to work on our farm because it’s an oasis from the stresses of her airline job. Marianne, another dedicated volunteer, nodded her head in agreement and said simply, “The healing garden.” Indeed, this garden is healing. This summer I’ve learned that bitter melon has medicinal qualities not only for the body, but also for the mind and soul

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The Common Table Farm is an urban farm project of Flemingdon Park Ministry in Toronto. We grow and distribute fresh produce in Flemingdon Park, and our work is part of a broader movement working towards food justice in our city. The pandemic has exacerbated systemic injustices that impact communities like Flemingdon Park. With the urgency of these social issues, it may not be immediately apparent why we should take time and space on the farm for also planting milkweed and flowering shrubs, as we have in the past two seasons. But when it comes down to it, it’s not the farm team who is feeding the community – it’s the bees. Without these little guys travelling amongst the flowers, vegetable production would not be possible. Their work integrates with that of the worms and microorganisms in the soil, who create the nutrient-rich conditions for our plants to grow and bear fruit.

As a member of the farm team, I’m just one of many participants in this local food (eco)system that feeds upwards of 150 families each season. I love that this incredible web of life calls me to join in this work together. This really is a community affair! There are human counterparts as well: our team is solid each year, and I could not keep up my motivation all season long without the enthusiasm brought by our volunteers.

I confess that on many days, in the busyness of trying to stay on top of tasks, I can forget the sacred and interdependent nature of this work. Thankfully, at just those times, a lance of sunlight through the maple trees may slow me down, inviting me to take a breath and remember. We are physically embedded in the world, although many of us forget this basic truth. Working on the farm is a vocation involving muscles, breath and observation of the land. This kind of work roots the farmer in place. Nicola Creegan, a theologian based in New Zealand, observes: “We live within this life and not on top of it, though we have come to think of ourselves as living on the world rather than within it.” Living within this life – not above it – is transformative. We are brought home to ourselves, as creatures that need air to breathe, water to drink, food to eat. I have the privilege of holding soil in my hands on a regular basis, and that contact reminds me of how we daily depend upon on soil.

As a farmer, I also have the joy of handling many different kinds of seeds. We save seed at the Common Table for self-sustainability and continuity from season to season. The practice of seed-keeping is deeply spiritual in many communities. Seeds are the source of each year’s sustenance; they are also keepers of ancestral knowledge and familial history. Seeds are tied to the sovereignty and cultural integrity of nations and groups, holding connections to land and community. At this time of year, the farm’s season begins with seeds. Like the bees, these tiny beings hold power that is often overlooked. We fill trays with soil and carefully seed them. The small pockets of earth are watered daily and watched for signs of life. Each variety of seed has its own timing. Lettuce takes no time at all to make its appearance. Other seeds take a week – or even two – before sprouts emerge.

Every spring, I’m held in thrall by this process. I know what is going to happen. And yet, the physical experience – of planting, waiting expectantly, worrying about germination, and then being surprised by the force of life – never fails to delight. Tiny seedlings poke through soil and reach for light. They unfold their leaves, ready to begin their work. It won’t be long before they’re transplanted into the ground. There they’ll greet the bees, and our summer work together will begin in earnest.

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