Most people don't know that a living land breathes; it exhales as the sun rises; it inhales as the sun sets. The corona virus has hammered us with this lesson: no breathing; no life. It is as true for land as it is for people. Good soil breathes: it has good heart; good heart is the gift a farmer gives to her land.

“We are faced with a great inner transformation in nature...Humanity has only two choices—either to start once again in every field of endeavor to learn from the whole of nature...or to allow both nature and human life to degenerate and die off,” Rudolf Steiner, founder of biodynamic agriculture, said in one of his lectures on agriculture.

I have used biodynamic practices in my garden for fifteen years. Those practices honor the flow of energy from spiritual realms into form and then back to spirit again. I began growing vegetables, flowers and herbs and selling them to restaurants, at farmer's markets and through a CSA (Community-Supported-Agriculture.) In September 2011, we had 20 inches of rain in two weeks. My crops drowned; the farmer's markets closed early. I knew I needed a new approach to gardening as our weather got more extreme and erratic; I began imagining dancing with Nature as my partner.

I now ask myself a fundamental question: how can I support life? How can I teach others to support life? It is no longer enough to make a living; we need to support life! Nature's rhythms are fluctuating dramatically, challenging us to develop nimble feet and hands, open hearts and minds, and a discerning awareness of what is most needed in the moment—to learn from the whole of Nature.

Groups of volunteers help me. I teach them how to read nature and how to respond: what is needed to protect life and how to accomplish it most expediently. This year, a freeze warning was issued for Friday night, two days before our traditional frost-free date of Mother's Day. I had not planted any tender crops, and I put some of the seedlings I had set out to “harden off”--to get used to the out of doors-- back inside the greenhouse and hoop house.

On Thursday, two volunteers covered long rows of potatoes with protective fabric and weighed it down with rocks. These potatoes had dark-green, succulent leaves pushing six inches out of the ground. Planted at the edge of the garden, they were likely to be damaged by the cold. They survived Friday night's freeze undamaged, but on Saturday, a bitter wind lifted the fabric off the middle of the row. Late afternoon, I found potatoes mid-row uncovered. I repositioned the fabric and weighed it down with more bricks. This morning, those potatoes had blackish limp tips. They had been damaged, not killed. Had we not covered the crop, we would have lost it. Next week, we are expecting temperatures close to 80 degrees. Then we will have extra work to keep our plants watered and shaded.

I spoke to my brother yesterday by phone. He is working from home at his computer and supporting the restaurants he wants to stay in business. Those restaurants won't stay viable if farms cannot remain viable; and farms cannot remain viable if our Earth, our mother, can no longer breathe. She needs people who care for her heart.

We face a choice—to learn from nature or to let nature and humanity die out and degenerate. At White Rose Farm, we now tend life itself, working to keep the land, the animals and plants vibrant and happy. We need others to notice and engage with Nature. The dance is becoming more intense; there is no easy rhythm, but the lessons more compelling and essential. Want to join the dance? Join us! We can use more hands, heads and hearts in the garden!