Valley farmer finds hope in spring even as he remembers pandemic’s toll, war in Ukraine

As a farmer, every spring something is plowed into me. This spring, even more stirs — like seeds sprouting, like peach blossoms popping, like leaf buds opening.

We are completing the second year of a pandemic. I remember March 2020 and distant memories of a cruise ship off the California coast filled with passengers infected with a strange and new virus called COVID. I can recall the first restrictions on gatherings placed in the Bay Area, thinking how hard it must be for them and how fortunate we were to be physically distant. I laugh about thinking it would be all over in a few months, perhaps by mid-May when our first organic peaches ripen and our season would return to normal.

Then the pandemic rolled over our nation. Every time the contagiion looked like it might pass, we were hit with another outbreak, another wave, a new variant. We never got to restart.

But the farmer side of me wants to believe this spring is different. An optimism stirs, a blind confidence that all good farmers must cling to: we work for an entire year and trust that our labors will result in a harvest others will want.

Spring is a natural time for a fresh start, a pairing of weather transitions with the potential for change. Some feel positive anticipation as the cold fades and sunshine expands with our longer days. Yet others will be challenged, weary of false expectations and jaded enthusiasm. This pandemic and all the accompanying elements of radical changes in health care, work and the economy have tainted our ideals. Over the last two years, with every restart we were quickly knocked down again and again.

Even the brutal international news of war carries a sober echo of seemingly never-ending struggles. The Ukrainians fight on multiple fronts, not only the brutality of the invading Russians but also their struggles with COVID. Only 35% of Ukrainians are vaccinated, and out of a population of 44 million, 5 million cases have been documented with a new fear that the flight of refugees may spread an illness even further. Finding hope must be challenging.

The mental toll after two years of our pandemic has been harsh and difficult. In my family, we have experienced mental health issues that consume our energy and optimism. My mom passed away two years ago, and I feel we still have not found a way of properly saying goodbye; there remains a lack of closure. Mental crises have arisen and forever changed our way of looking at the world. Perhaps I had been blind before to the struggles of many. The pandemic has forced us to look in the shadows where some must live and battle daily. The answers are not simple.

Yet spring can offer a fresh start. Not to unsee the realities of the past two years; rather to recognize, like a good farmer, this is a season of new beginnings. Magically, my organic orchards and vineyards seem to forgive me for last year’s errors and mistakes. The trees and vines offer a new beginning no matter how much I screwed up before. I am pardoned for my behavior and given a new opportunity with a challenge: here’s my chance to feel alive.

I can break the old routines and accept the unscheduled ventures of this new season and new year - to take advantage of the opportunity to take action and achieve something. I return to my fields with something old and something new. This is a natural time for change, recognizing many don’t want to change, finding comfort in the old, even if the past was plagued with pain and hurt.

I believe in fresh starts. I seek new occasions to learn. I don’t run away from the past. I hold close the harsh memories of this pandemic, especially the emotional trauma and the mental health crises near to me. I carry with me the baggage of history, hopefully like the veteran farmer who embodies the collective wisdom of ancestors who once worked the land I now tend to and labor upon.

Every spring, I return to something old and new: a natural time to accept the past and change. I’m reminded of an old Japanese saying my father would say. “Nana korobi ya oki “— fall down seven times, get up eight.

Spring carries the promise for a fresh start.