I am notorious for getting lost. I get lost even in places I have lived for years, so this last month of being new to these cities has involved my spending lots of times doing U-turns, peering at street signs and making phone calls asking for directions just one more time.  The other day when lost in downtown Ventura I was completely frustrated, tired, hot and could tell I needed, for the safety of myself and others, to stop and take a moment. I thankfully was next to what looked like a lovely park and quickly found myself sitting, nestled, being held, by the roots of a huge oak tree.

This summer after the official phone call from Sarah Nolan offering me an internship position I happily called a friend exclaiming, “I’m going to be rooted! I am going to be in a place for a whole year.” I should explain why for me 12 months in one place is a BIG deal.  My childhood was marked by moving. I recently counted and in my 22 years I have lived in 25 bedrooms, jr. high being the last time I spent 365 calling the same room my home. My transience only increased during my college years where I honed the skills of fitting my life in my well-worn backpacking pack that soon became covered with airplane train and bus tags.  Being a nomad has shaped me but over this last year I could tell a deep need to put down my backpack and sink into a place (even if for just a year!).

Carrots. These last weeks I have spent some time getting to know roots. I smiled to myself Monday while yanking up carrots realizing I was making up a little rhythm-ditty in my head to the pop sound that carrot-leaving-soil makes. Though some of the carrots I attempt to harvest threw off the beat and held no pop, as I pulled off only the green leafy top and the carrot stayed firmly…well rooted. I grimaced and head-hung shared with Guadalupe my apologies that I had ruined the carrot. He assured me that no there is grace; the carrot does this wonderful thing of self-rejuvenating. He showed me a row whose tops had been lobbed off weeks before and now as he pulled one it out let out not only a delightful pop, but was one of the bigger more beautiful deep orange carrots I had seen that day.

The time in the field not only provides these learning’s, beat-poetry dappling and wonder, but space for the mind to wander. I must admit that at times that wandering leads to dreams of my own wandering.  I think about that dream I have to hike the Pacific Crest Trail or biking the country, I wonder if my college-roommate is still up for that traveling Europe adventure we spent late nights envisioning, I think about my hitchhiking boyfriend and plan to tag along for an adventure.  When I was reflecting on why these open road dreams were hitting I realized that when I thought about coming here and being rooted I naively thought roots would be instant.

Transitions are hard and for me it is easier to be on the move. I forgot that rooting requires time and patience. It’s not simply being in a place that makes you then rooted, you have to put some intentional working into rooting, seeking nourishment.

Our carrot harvest has been lacking lately because of the weather, simply not enough sunlight. The root vegetable was just too small to be harvested. I realize now in my first weeks I was to quickly harvesting my own roots examining them and becoming frustrated that they didn’t make the leaving the soil pop, they are still too small, not because of big bad things but just needing more time.  But I am glad that like carrots rejuvenation can happen, I can tuck those to-soon-pulled-roots back into the soil and give them more of the nourishment that I daily can tell is making them grow.

Nourishment in the form of deepening relationships with the wonderful women I share the farm house with, with Ched and Elaine while we garden and work together two days a week, with Guadalupe, Julie B and Sam as we join and work in the field, with the Abundant Table church community as we hug one another during the passing of the peace and through connection to this physical place through hikes where I start to recognize native plants, Tuesday morning bike rides with Kat up the Ventura bike trail, and full moon gazing on the beach.

And nourishment through plenty of grace.