Weather, Wisdom, and Gratitude

In the 1920s, about 26% of Americans were farmers; today it’s under 2%. With that shift, a lot of everyday wisdom faded from our culture—knowledge born from living close to the land.

Farmers talk about the weather the way others talk about sports or the stock market, except our “score” determines whether the orchards thrive, whether the bank account stays steady, and whether we sleep well or worry about frost, irrigation, or the next heat wave. Weather isn’t small talk. It’s life talk.

Everything we do—planting, pruning, irrigating, harvesting—hinges on rain, wind, fire, sunshine, and the atmosphere’s moods. And because our trees live for decades, responding to shifting climate patterns is an ongoing challenge.

Old-timers could read the sky like a book: wind shifts, bird movements, the color of the mountains at dusk. They noticed details most people miss because the stakes were, and still are, so high.

I use apps now, but nothing replaces watching the sunrise and sunset in a single day. It’s not just rosy hillsides or stars appearingit’s the reflection those moments invite.

World events often hit farmers like weather does: suddenly and powerfully. Tariffs, trade policies, new competitors—storms of a different kind. In the 1980s, our family’s lemon crop was caught in a dispute with Japan. Today, like many in the valley, we’re removing lemons because we lose money growing them. The market changed; our trees didn’t. That’s farming: weather on the ground, weather in the world.

I try to root my days in a mindful relationship with the land's natural rhythms and respect for the interconnectedness of soil, wind, bees, birds, water, and people. It’s a quiet partnership. The orchard grows, and I grow with it.

Nature and gratitude go hand in hand. Even with a long to-do list, stepping into the orchard pulls me back to what matters. Being outside instead of at a desk reminds me of the beauty of this place and the small ways I can care for it.

Today, fewer people know what it’s like to live by the weather or look at the sky and whisper, Please, just one day of gentle rain. But when I look at my life—this ranch, this orchard, this season of purpose, I feel deeply lucky.

And I’m especially grateful for the family and friends who share this wild, beautiful journey with me.