Excerpt No. 0013
Write What You Saw
There are enough books written by people who never got dirt on their boots.
This won't be one of them.
Everything in these pages begins the same way.
I saw it.
I lived it.
I wondered about it.
Or I learned it from someone who had earned the right to teach it.
If I didn't...
I'll tell you.
The vineyard has made me careful.
Nature has a funny way of exposing people who pretend to know more than they do.
A vine doesn't care how confident you sound.
It only responds to what is actually true.
I've learned to respect that.
You'll notice something as you read this Almanac.
I don't write much about theories.
I write about mornings.
About pruning.
About dust.
About rain that came two days too late.
About frost that settled fifty feet lower than expected.
About cattle standing where they normally don't.
About a vine that finally made sense after watching it for ten years.
Those things happened.
Those are worth remembering.
Every farmer has opinions.
Some are good.
Some aren't.
Time has a way of sorting them out.
That's why I try not to confuse opinion with observation.
Observation is where wisdom begins.
You can argue with an opinion.
It's much harder to argue with twenty-seven harvests.
There will be pages in this Almanac where I say,
"I don't know."
There will be others where I write,
"This is what I've seen."
Those aren't weaknesses.
They're honesty.
And honesty lasts longer than certainty.
If I quote another farmer, I'll tell you.
If I learned something from my father, you'll know it.
If a scientist explained something better than I ever could, I'll point you there.
This Almanac isn't about proving that I know everything.
It's about preserving everything worth knowing.
No matter where it came from.
One day, someone may read one of these entries and discover that I was wrong.
I hope they write it in the margin.
Then I hope they explain why.
Knowledge isn't protected by pretending we're always right.
It's protected by caring enough to keep looking.
Maybe that's why I trust the vineyard so much.
It has never lied to me.
Sometimes I misunderstood it.
Sometimes I wasn't paying attention.
Sometimes I asked the wrong question.
But the vineyard was always telling the truth.
It was my job to listen better.
So that's my promise.
I won't write what sounds good.
I won't write what gets applause.
I'll write what I saw.
Because someday, someone else may need to see it too.
Filed Away
The vineyard rewards observation, not exaggeration.
Write what you saw.
Then let time decide the rest.
Keith Saarloos
Farmer
Saarloos & Sons
