I’ve always said that I would be perfectly happy to be a farmer who grew nothing but cover crops. They really appeal to my Midwestern, soil conservation roots: large swaths of lush green plants waving in the breeze, holding the soil in place against wind and rain erosion, mellowing that soil with their plunging, penetrating roots and — after all is said and done — nourishing that soil as they’re tilled back into it, adding precious organic matter, returning nutrients they’ve used and feeding the teeming multitudes of beneficial soil bacteria.

Generally, I have these “what if…” moments about cover crops while I’m on the tractor, mowing or tilling another lush, beautiful stand of something or other. I’m so struck by the simple beauty of it all (aside, of course, from the roaring, diesel-exhaust-belching tractor) that I just get lost in my thoughts. Recently, I had such a moment as I mowed a cover crop of winter rye and hairy vetch. I drove through the field, seeing the vibrant green and purple blossoms of the vetch contrast with the blueish green stalks and bearded tops of the rye; smelling the sweet scent of the freshly mown, succulent vetch; swallows swooping overhead (catching insects which the tractor had disturbed into flight); the sun shining, then not, then shining again; watching Chloe (our dog) lope through the dense stand, thoroughly enjoying herself, her head bobbing as she tried to see where she was going (she stands to mid-thigh on me and the vetch was easily over waist high in much of the field), but knowing that she didn’t really care. How could I not get lost in the beauty of it?

But then, as the diesel fumes caught up to me and vibrations of the tractor started to jar my bones, I was happy to be done with it. The rye and vetch were gone (mown and lightly mixed into the soil), the dog had bitten a porcupine (and the porcupine, of course, had bitten back), the tractor needed fuel, and I needed a break from that hot, noisy machine. On my way back to the house, I took a detour for a walk through the other field — the one full of beautiful, heathly vegetables growing in beautiful, healthy soil — to remind myself that it’s not so bad to be a veggie farmer after all.