The Art of Doing Enough
As a farmer, this seems like the craziest concept. Things never end OR when you think the day's finally wrapped up something breaks down, escapes, or needs more attention.
As we prepare to enter into the fall season, let's take a moment to remind ourselves of a few simple truths.
There is a funny thing that happens when we really care about something:
we start doing more.
More fertilizer, amendments, and pruning.
More products, equipment and passes across the field.
More treatments, research and rules.
Somewhere along the way, taking care of something can quietly turn into constantly doing something to it.
Gardening and farming both have a way of teaching us that sometimes the best thing we can do is pay attention, make a thoughtful decision, and then…leave it alone.
Caring Doesn't Always Mean Doing More
We've all seen it in the garden.
A tomato plant has a few yellow leaves, so we immediately start searching for a deficiency.
A little insect damage appears, and suddenly we're wondering which treatment to buy.
The soil isn't perfectly dark and fluffy, so we decide we need compost, fertilizer, amendments, raised beds and three different types of mulch.
Before long, we're spending $50 trying to save $10 worth of tomatoes.
It's easy to forget the basics are still the basics. Prepare the soil, plant something appropriate for the season, provide water, and pay attention. You don't necessarily need to build the perfect growing system before putting a seed in the ground.
Of course, there are exceptions.
Some soil genuinely needs improvement. Some crops need additional nutrients. Some pests need to be managed. Some growing conditions require raised beds, irrigation, trellising or other tools.
The point isn't that we should never intervene.
The point is that we should know why we're intervening.
And that applies just as much to the farm as it does to the backyard garden.
Farming Has Its Own Version of “More”
Farmers know the temptation well.
If a crop isn't looking quite right, maybe we need another pass.
If the weeds are getting ahead, maybe we need another treatment.
If yields aren't where we want them, maybe we need more fertilizer.
If the soil isn't responding quickly enough, maybe we need another amendment.
If the cattle aren't gaining quite as quickly as we'd hoped, maybe we need to change the ration again.
Sometimes those decisions are absolutely necessary.
But sometimes, we're responding to a problem that doesn't actually require fixing—or we're trying to squeeze another five percent out of a system at the expense of time, money, soil, animals and our own sanity.
Farming is full of decisions where more can be more…until it isn't.
More fertilizer isn't automatically more fertility.
More tillage isn't automatically better seedbed preparation.
More irrigation isn't automatically better plant growth.
More feed isn't automatically better animal performance.
More pesticides aren't automatically better pest management.
More work isn't automatically better stewardship.
The goal isn't to do as little as possible.
The goal is to do what is necessary, useful and appropriate.
The Cost of Doing Too Much
Every input has a cost.
And as farmers, we understand that perhaps better than anyone.
There's the price on the invoice, but there is also fuel, labor, machinery wear, time and opportunity cost. There is the cost of moving soil when we didn't need to. The cost of applying something that wasn't actually necessary. The cost of running another pass across a field because we feel like we should.
And then there are the costs we don't always see immediately.
Nutrients can be wasted.
Soil can be disturbed unnecessarily.
Organic matter can be lost.
Resources can be used without producing a meaningful return.
And sometimes, in our attempt to make everything more efficient, productive or perfect, we actually make the system more complicated and less resilient.
That's an important distinction.
Stewardship isn't about using nothing. It's about wasting as little as possible.
The Farm Doesn't Have to Look Perfect
We've also become accustomed to judging success by appearances. The ideals of social media and farm aesthetics has made allowances for the working farm feel like it has to be perfect or the average townie won't think you're a good farmer. If we're not careful, we compare ourselves to unrealistic expectations...especially if you've been in farming for generations and have the "blessing" of the midwest hoard.
A perfectly clean field.
A perfectly manicured garden.
A spotless barnyard.
A crop with not a single blemish.
A pasture that looks like a golf course.
But nature doesn't really operate that way.
A few weeds don't necessarily mean failure.
A chewed leaf isn't necessarily a crisis.
A pasture doesn't have to look like a lawn to be productive.
A little insect damage doesn't automatically mean the entire garden needs to be treated.
And a field doesn't have to look perfect from the road to be healthy.
Sometimes we're managing for production.
Sometimes we're managing for soil.
Sometimes we're managing for livestock.
Sometimes we're managing for wildlife.
And sometimes we're simply learning what this particular piece of ground needs.
The trick is learning to tell the difference.
There Is a Difference Between Neglect and Restraint
This is where the conversation gets especially important.
Doing less doesn't mean ignoring problems.
A farmer who notices a nutrient deficiency and addresses it isn't “overcomplicating” things.
A gardener who builds a raised bed because their native soil truly won't support the crop isn't wasting resources.
A livestock producer who adjusts a ration because the animals need something different isn't doing unnecessary work.
That's care.
But continuing to add inputs without knowing whether they're solving a problem?
That's something different.
There is a difference between observation and anxiety, stewardship and perfectionism or responding to a problem and constantly looking for one.
Maybe We Need to Trust the Process a Little More
One of the things farming and gardening does is force us to accept something we don't always like:
We aren't completely in control.
We can plant the best seed.
We can prepare the soil.
We can provide water.
We can manage weeds.
We can feed our animals well.
We can make thoughtful decisions.
And then the weather gets a vote.
The insects get a vote.
The disease pressure gets a vote.
The soil gets a vote.
The animals get a vote.
Nature gets the final say more often than we'd like to admit.
A recent gardening discussion put it simply: new gardeners can sometimes feel like everything that goes wrong is their fault, when in reality gardening involves plenty that is simply outside our control.
The best we can do is learn to work with what we have, give it what it needs and nothing more. The soil, nature, vegitation and animals have been around for bajillions of years. It knows what to do. Our job is to learn how to harmonize with the symphony already playing for generations upon generations, stewarding the time we get to "play" with the most respect and leavve things healthier than when we happened upon them.
Before You Do More, Ask Why
Maybe this season we could all give ourselves permission to pause before reaching for the next product, tool, treatment or trip across the field.
Ask:
What problem am I actually trying to solve?
Do I know that this input will solve it?
Does the crop, soil or animal actually need it?
Could I accomplish the same thing with something I already have?
And perhaps the most important question:
Am I caring for this system—or am I just doing something because I feel like I should?
There is wisdom in knowing when to act.
But there is also wisdom in knowing when to leave things alone.
Sometimes good farming means adding manure.
Sometimes it means adding fertilizer.
Sometimes it means changing a ration, spraying a crop, repairing a fence or making another pass.
And sometimes good farming means not doing any of those things.
Sometimes the most sustainable choice is the simplest one.
Grow what grows well.
Feed what needs feeding.
Fix what needs fixing.
Use what you have.
Pay attention.
And when everything is working?
Let it work.
Because caring for the land isn't measured by how much we do to it.
Sometimes it's measured by how well we know when enough is enough.
Grow more. Waste less. Work smarter.
And remember: doing enough can sometimes be better than doing more.
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