Breaking Points
For every gardener, there comes a breaking point. Mine was August 3, 2023. I was just finishing up at my office job when two things happened: first of all, there was an advisory sent out over all communication waves - my phone and the Google home that plays music in the office. A severe weather front was rapidly moving through the region, and we were being told to take shelter to remain safe. Secondly, I received a text from my wife, stating these words: “Get home now.”
I was perplexed. From my office view, 40 minutes south of where I live, the sun was still shining. No wind, no rain, nothing. Just your average, lazy August afternoon. As I was driving home, there was still no evidence of any destructive weather system; however, I could see dark clouds looming over the horizon line, suggesting to my very keen observational powers that maybe, just maybe, things weren’t looking too good.
Eventually, I approached the edge of town to find that the roads were wet. “Ah-ha!” I thought to myself, “It has most definitely rained here recently!” Very keen observation, I know.
That’s when reality began to set in. Trees were broken and draped over power lines. Some even scattered over the road. Various pieces of debris littered the landscape. Those in the line of quickly growing traffic skirted various pieces of junk blocking the road - it seemed that everyone was trying to get to their own homes as quickly as possible. Less than 3 blocks away from my house, I had to blink to believe my eyes: snow, or what appeared to be snow, had been randomly deposited in various spots in people's yards. Thanks to those keen observational skills of mine, I deduced that it was actually residual evidence of hail.
Hail. Mega hail. Hail, as I keenly observed, that could inflict an incredible amount of damage to a person, their home, their vehicle, or even–oh no–even their garden–gasp! The garden!
In the classic movie Turner & Hooch, Tom Hanks, playing Turner, prays that God would send hail the size of cantaloupe on Hooch the dog. Little did Tom know that Hooch’s real name was Lindsay, and that God would answer his prayer when he found the town of Lindsay on the map a few decades later. Thanks a lot, Mr. Hanks.
I whipped into the driveway and made a beeline for the backyard where my flourishing garden was located. Correction: once flourishing garden.
A massive tree limb had been ripped and strewn about the middle of the yard. Hailstones that could potentially be used for the opening pitch in a Blue Jays game littered the ground. All hope that the garden would be spared was lost. Every single tomato was burst open from hail-like lacerations. Pepper plants were lying on their sides with roots exposed. Cucumbers–there was hardly evidence that they once existed and thrived on their trellis. Sunflowers, chamomile, leeks, calendula, onions: they all appeared to be beyond saving.
Over the next couple of weeks, I was touched by the outpouring of support from those who had followed my social media journey up to that point. I hadn’t realized that there was such an audience who had been following along as I went all in on my garden this year. For that, I want to express a humble thank-you!
It wasn’t the destruction from the hail storm that was the breaking point for me working in the garden. Instead, it was the breaking point for me and the documentation I had been sharing on social media. Up until that point, I had been posting at an entirely unsustainable pace, just to put content out there, which I now keenly observe was not in line with the original purpose of The Prodigal Farmer.
The goal of The Prodigal Farmer is to teach, to share, to inspire, to encourage, and to have fun. While I was having an absolute blast with what I was doing, the hailstorm reminded me that I was quickly burning myself out being more concerned with creating flashy content and catching the algorithm, rather than communicating the here and now of gardening in my local community.
The hailstorm may have left me feeling cheated of what I thought I was creating–eventually, it clarified my focus on how to press onward and continue creating relevant content to my nearest audience, my local neighbourhood and region.
From the chaos there will come calm,
Out of the broken, beauty is borne.
So, with a new year just around the corner and another growing season quickly upcoming, this is my new beginning; my next adventure into the vast and becoming-more-familiar world of gardening. I sincerely hope you will join me and enjoy the ride!
The Prodigal Farmer,
Andrew
