Today, as I stood amidst the fields in 22 degrees morning, a quiet breeze rustling through the weeds, I was struck by the paradoxical beauty of fire. California, with its fierce wildfires, is ablaze once more. The devastation is palpable, and yet, here I am, contemplating fire not as an enemy, but as a tool for transformation. Our farm faces a challenge too—how do we clear these stubborn weeds and prepare the soil for life-giving crops without harming the earth?

Two choices lie before us: fire or chemicals. The answer seems clear. Chemicals may kill weeds, but they also strip the soil of its spirit, leaving behind lifeless dirt where once there was vitality. Fire, though fierce, offers something deeper—an ancient, natural way of renewal.

I digress, yet perhaps not. These thoughts swirl in my mind as I walk the fields. I speak to them, hoping they’ll whisper back wisdom. Today, they gave me silence—not an emptiness, but a silence brimming with love, as though they were holding me steady in their arms.

Nature, in its raw honesty, teaches us so much. Fire destroys, yes, but it also gives. It clears away the old, the stagnant, the overgrown. It paves the way for seeds to find sunlight, for nutrients to enrich the soil, for new life to take root. In this duality, I find inspiration for my own journey and for how we care for this land.

We’ve decided to embrace fire—not as an act of destruction, but as an act of renewal. Controlled burns, handled with respect, intention, and knowledge, will help us return nutrients to the soil, clear space for food to grow, and nurture the vibrant ecosystem we are working so lovingly to create.

Here, we are fortunate to have geologists in our community, experts whose wisdom and experience will guide us in this process. Their knowledge of the land, its structure, and its needs brings a level of understanding and safety that I deeply respect. This isn’t just a burn; it’s a collaboration between human wisdom and nature’s rhythms.

As I stood in the fields, I was humbled by nature’s cycles. Fire burns, but it also builds. It takes away, but it gives back, often more than it takes. Perhaps this is a metaphor for life itself—letting go of what no longer serves us so that something better, something more aligned, can emerge.

The fields may have been silent today, but their love spoke volumes. They reminded me that nature’s ways are often wiser than our own. When we align ourselves with these ancient rhythms, whether it’s through fire, soil, or the gentle whisper of the wind, we find a sense of balance, purpose, and connection.

I feel grateful for this land, for its ability to teach, to hold, to nurture. Together, we’ll create space for something beautiful to grow once we complete the burn later this year. And just like the fire, that growth will be born from love.

Let’s honor the cycles of nature, the wisdom of those who guide us, and the silent strength of the land. Even in stillness, the earth speaks. We just need to listen.