A sower went out. . .

Spirit and Dust

By David Graber, June 24, 2010

A sower went out to sow, and when he sowed, some seeds fell by the way side, and the fowls came and devoured them up: Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth: and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth: And when the sun was up, they were scorched; and because they had no root, they withered away. And some fell among thorns; and the thorns sprung up, and choked them.  But other fell into good ground, and brought forth, some a hundredfold, some sixtyfold, some thirtyfold."
—Matthew 13. 3ff, KJV

It's amazing how acting on hope can bring unexpected gains from unexpected sources.

"Letting things be" in the fields

Early this spring I watched a pair of geese obsessed for hours pecking around in the ground we seeded before freeze-up last fall. That's when we couldn't find a high-tech seeder to place the seed in the ground at the right depth with the best compaction and spacing.

Because we didn't have the right technology, we needed to double the amount of seed we bought, and broadcast it with a seeder made to fit on an ATV. It took some mental adjustment. My heritage doesn't approve of wasteful extravagance. I'd rather win by doing things right.

As spring advanced into summer I monitored the weeds, kicked the grass to count baby hoppers, rechecked my soil tests and regretted not investing in correcting our soil phosphate deficit.

I noticed acres of long strips devoid of anything except a few weeds. It felt wrong, wasting that seed on poor soil. But we did win a round: Nary a seed was visible to any birds thanks to the winter-long snow blanket.

Last week a neighbor finished leveling the lumps in the bottom of our irrigation drainage ditch. In order to do the work, the flow had been blocked, making stagnant water for a population explosion of mosquitoes.

When the work was done, the water started moving much better. Yesterday I walked down to the point where our drainage water enters the channel that connects to the river. The water was clear, and I could see hundreds of minnows in several swarms hanging around the inlet, enjoying a feast of mosquito larva and eggs.

I knew we'd had a mosquito population explosion. I hadn't thought about how flowing water solves the problem. Also, I didn't expect this assistance from minnows.

"Letting things be" in the classroom

I averted my eyes from the child jumping off his seat and falling on the floor, crawling around, disturbing other children's singing in my music class.

I told my students, "Those who sing and sign get to drum or dance." Most children followed my example, ignoring the one out of place. We drummed and danced without him.

Months before the end of school this spring he was drumming and dancing with the others. Cooperation slowly replaced defiance.

Prior to taking the new "let it be" tack, I would have intervened by removing him from the group. That seldom helped. The best intervention I have found is like seeding our pasture. You just do it, everywhere, and let it be. In the classroom setting, I give each child attention, and then do my best to let them be.

I give each a smile or a pat on the shoulder upon entering my music room. I don't distinguish good from bad, or a history of chasing, tripping, and hitting from a history of following classroom directions.

I've noticed that this leads to fewer disruptions and less attention given to those children who aren't following directions. If I don't focus on the kids who are out of line, the children who are participating won't either.

I've tried to learn the value of what I would have previously called wasteful extravagance. Now I'm looking at unexpected beneficial rains this spring greening up even the most saline pasture areas. A little rain extravagance in Big Horn County is OK with me.

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