the dawn patrol

every morning, my dad gets up before sunrise and makes a lot of coffee, some of which he drinks immediately and some of which he reserves in a pint glass on the counter for later reheating. he then selects a yellow legal pad from the stacks of papers and books that litter the kitchen table, grabs a cheap ballpoint pen, and sits at the table and writes. this is before he reads the sports pages, before he loads his bike panniers up with dog-eared horticultural tomes and sheafs of scribbled-upon notepads and rides up the hill to the university; before he walks the paths of the garden alone to see what's been happening with the plants overnight; before he witnesses the insects become visible as the fog lifts and the birds descend; before he waters the seedlings in the greenhouse or prepares and writes the day's orchard tasks for the apprentices on the chalet chalkboard in vigorous all-caps; before he stands on a sloped hillside in running shoes and shorts all day, teaching hopeful farmers how to grow stuff, until the fog comes back. 

today is the release day for my dad's first book, Fruit Trees for Every Garden, which i cowrote with him. from the book: 

Our allies in the insect and avian world are particularly evident early and late in the day. Dawn and dusk. The crepuscular hours. As both poets and biologists tell us, these are times of heightened biological activity. Many varying demographics such as surfers, birders, naturalists, anglers, and hunters pursue their passions in the early light. Surfers refer to this as the dawn patrol.

One of the pleasures of my life is the almost daily, early-morning walkabout in our fields, gardens, and orchards. I find these to be synergistic times of both reflection and technical insight—a time of alchemy, inspiration, and profound humility that helps integrate science and spirit on a daily basis.

On a more practical basis, the dawn patrol is about honoring the dignity of our physical labor—noticing what needs to be done and then doing it in a timely manner. 

all of my parents taught me to read and write and understand the world through its own varied modes of expression. collaborating with my dad on his book taught me to honor the dawn, and the work, in all the ways they show up.

also, how to grow fruit. 

i hope it does the same for you. 

xo
-m. 

PS—If you're in or near Santa Cruz on Sunday, September 15, please join us at the UC Santa Cruz Hay Barn for a book launch event featuring live music, signed books, and a fruit pie potluck . . . more info here.