I have received e-mails on how to avoid getting the corona virus, which is especially important for those whose health is compromised. As a biodynamic farmer, I focus on promoting health—imagining my farm as a living, breathing whole whose parts all work together to create a vibrant life force.

I have recently been inspired by Enzo Nastati, a world-class biodynamic farmer in Italy. He is to farming what Joshua Bell is to the violin. Through studying his work, I am noting more carefully the timing and pacing of farm practices, as well as attending to the structure of larger farm issues. Imagine conducting an orchestra of life.

I often go into the garden before sunrise. I breathe in fresh air; I survey the sky as birdsong greets the day; I gauge the earth beneath my feet. I work with an eye to build complexity and inter-relatedness, even as I attend to major chores. This time of year, I build compost piles; I trench garden beds to improve the drainage; I spread mulch; I plant cover crops. I also milk my cow, Hazel, every morning.

Yesterday, the day dawned clear, the air crisp; the soil moist--a perfect April morning in early March. I decided to use the fresh milk as a fertilizer in my lowest garden bed, where I had just spread compost. Raw milk is filled with enzymes, vitamins and minerals: it is highly energetic and life promoting. I imagined that it would activate the life in my garden. I poured the milk into a bucket and a cloud of energy whooshed by my face. I added barrel compost, a biodynamic preparation and water heated on my wood stove. I stirred the mixture for twenty minutes, then spread droplets of the mixture in my lowest garden and poured the rest onto a compost pile.

As I stirred the preparation, I noticed that the leaves of the Penelope rose next to me were just greening--perfect for taking cuttings. Later, I started a fertilizing brew for the rose cuttings. I found time for minor tasks (most took about five minutes.) I divided and transplanted snowdrops, the earliest bloomers of the season. I raked out a pile of wood chips around the wash station. I forked spent comfrey straw on top of a compost pile. I spread a drip tape over the top of another pile. I turned the water on low to moisten the pile to activate its microorganisms.

I spread two cart-fulls of fresh manure and spent straw between rows of comfrey. (Comfrey is a plant that can accommodate fresh manure.) I walked past three beds; their surface crusted after rain and wind of the previous night. I broke the crust with a light hoeing so that sunshine and gentle breeze will dry the ground so it will be ready to plant tomorrow.

Midday, I gathered high-protein honey locust pods that had blown to the ground in our latest wind storm. I had planted those trees fifteen years ago. Now they were producing pods which I harvested in five minutes. I fed them to the cows as an afternoon treat. The cows settled onto the ground and happily chewed their cud.

I attend to the basics that lay the foundation of good soil and good structure in the landscape. Then I add flourishes that enhance so many small aspects of the farm: more flowers, more microorganisms, more fertility, better drainage. It is a daily work that builds, builds, builds not just structure, but the fine notes of beauty that make life worth living.

Building vitality starts with a desire to create wholeness. It proceeds with a vision of how to create an overall structure and then how to weave together disparate parts to bring wholeness. What a dance it is! What a glorious, life-affirming dance! So I say, “ To life, to life, l'chaim! l'chaim, l'chaim, to life!”