I got a little emotional the other day. Sometimes you have those moments where you just know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. An epiphany, if you will.

About a month ago, my friend Rhonda, the director of the library (don’t tell her I idolize her job just a little bit), called me up in the wee hours of the day. Obviously, she was trying to catch me while my guard was down so I would agree to her little plan. I hadn’t had my coffee. Something about a Seed Swap, that wasn’t on the National Holiday, but it was close enough, and could I say a little something about soil? Why sure because CLEARLY I’m qualified after seven months at a job. But I agreed because namely, it just sounds like a day we’d have snow. January 19th. When I went to write on my old school blotter, I discovered it was a Saturday. That sly wench!

Nonetheless, I assembled 27 folders full of valuable literature, soil sample boxes and forms, several posters, and my ever-present blue board.
I loaded up Maggie for my presentation. Presentation. Snort. We’ll see about that. I didn’t want to get in over my head, so I just printed some Fun Facts About Dirt off the NRCS website.

Fortunately, she had me paired up with my good friend Jim from the City, and he is nothing if not knowledgeable about all things that grow. He has been invaluable to me in my new capacity, knowing more about my job than I do. So I knew he could willingly serve as my crutch if I got in a bind.

He went first, for the scheduled first hour. He did a wonderful job! I learned a lot about container gardening. He gives sound advice and his results found all over the city speak for him as well. He’s known for cultivating hard-to-grow plants, and has even introduced several tropical varieties that have surprisingly thrived. He’s a genius of the plant world! The longer I listened, the bigger the ball of inadequacy grew in my stomach. I would just do it like I do everything else in life: wing it, and hope for the best. Thankfully, Rhonda didn’t want me to talk the whole hour or I would really be hurting.

So when it was my turn, I stepped behind the lectern and gave my biggest, most endearing smile. I can be quite winsome, if I do say so myself. “Hello, I’m Amy. And while Jim is perfectly comfortable talking about his job that he’s been working at for eighteen years, I have been at mine for six months. So I’m sure to pale in comparison.”

I told the story of how Jim and I go way back, to when he was new in town and I was new at the Co-op. In those days, I served as a floater. It was great. About the time I got bored in one department, I went to another to give a lunch break for someone. It was not unusual to find me in three departments in three hours. Hence, Jim thinking I was a triplet. He would come in of the morning and I would be on the front counter, selling plants. Lunchtime would find me at the gas window. And of the afternoon, I’d be piled up at the back counter, shooting and selling fertilizer. He would come in several times in the course of a day buying mulch and other supplies and everywhere he went, there I was. I assured them I was qualified to do what I do, as I had worked for the Co-op for thirteen years. I told them I may not be able to answer any intricate questions they had about Soil Conservation, but I could certainly school them on just about anything the Co-op sells.

I got down to business.

“First thing’s first. The most important thing to remember is, ‘We’re the government and we’re here to help.'”

I paused to let the laughter die down.

Except there was none. Tough crowd. I kinda giggled, to show them it was a joke, and elaborated, “Most people are scared to seek assistance through the government, afraid of what might get put on their radar. But I want to assure you, my office is non-regulatory. We’re just here for technical assistance and funding. Most of our customers are large scale, but we do offer cost share on high-tunnels. Anything to help with good water and land stewardship–we want to help you! And you can call with other questions, too. Believe me, I get calls about obtaining a passport, how to register to vote, the number to the jail, and just this week somebody called wanting the number to Atchley’s Funeral Home.

“Yes, I helped. I’ve got Google!

“But the other thing I want you to remember is this: You will need a doctor several times in your life. If you’re lucky, you only need a lawyer once or twice. But you need a farmer three times a day.”

This is where I teared up. Here I stood, in one of the greatest institutions ever devised by our forefathers, and a very personal love to me, talking about my passion: farming. It was almost more than I could bear. All my life had perfectly aligned to bring me here. Farmers get a bad rap; vegetarians don’t like them, they think it’s cruel to kill an animal for food when we could subsist on vegetables. Crunchy granola types think we should be able to live in harmony with the boll weevil and the tobacco worm and kill them humanely on a case by-case basis. Certain political parties think we could do without hiring migrant laborers to work in the fields daylight till dark. And then the work’s still not done- you just move inside to artificial lighting to work on machinery. Farmers are legalized gamblers. They are totally at the mercy of God and Mother Nature to provide weather in order to produce enough crops to live on. Are any other professions so dependent on that? Farming is the backbone of our country, of the world. If you don’t eat, you don’t survive.

So, back to me nearly crying in front of a bunch of backyard gardeners.

“You need a farmer three times a day,” I repeated, trying to make sure it stuck.

I walked them through the literature in their packets, told them to take some posters, and opened the floor for discussion. Of course I got 27 deer-in-the-headlight looks, but Jim bailed me out. We talked about native trees, grasses, and shrubs, I gave them some insight on the benefits of earthworms, and then we got to talking about bees. Thankfully, there was a beekeeper in the group and I eventually just eased away to make myself a craft. Behold, the seed ball.

I think the day was a success. Even if I did get a tad emotional.