Space Between the Notes

Fallow Time

“Fallow: land plowed and harrowed but left unsown for a period...”

Miriam Webster Dictionary

In the northern hemisphere, farm land usually planted in crops is plowed and left fallow from September until March. Sometimes, nowadays, rather than clearing a field, crops are simply turned under and allowed to decompose naturally. Fallow time is part of crop rotation—it allows the soil to rest, restore itself and gain nutrients. Current wisdom suggests that fields not be plowed and harrowed at the end of the growing season because this causes loss of topsoil and the possibility of soil erosion. It disturbs the underground ecosystems in ways that do not support soil health. And, in some parts of the world, fallow fields are sown with grasses and used to graze sheep or cows, which adds more nutrients to the soil. In some farm animals, pigs for instance, the word fallow means “not pregnant.”

Human beings also go through fallow times. When a project ends, there is typically a pause before a new one begins. When a relationship ends, there is a period of not knowing what comes next—it can feel freeing, or perhaps "free-fall" is a better description. It can also feel barren. For most of us, fallow time means nothing is being accomplished. We are not pregnant with new ideas, new life. It can be truly uncomfortable—restless, empty.

This time of year, after the rush of the summer, the zestfulness of autumn, the coming of cold, wet winter may cause us to feel “fallow.” We fight this—we say we don't have the luxury of being unproductive. And, since we somehow take ourselves out of the category of “land animals,” we don't consider the fact that “fallow” is the appropriate condition for winter—but it is.

If you feel a little unfocused, a little restless, as though you can't quite get your bearings, consider that this may be your body-mind-spirit telling you to take a little fallow time. Allow yourself to rest and refresh. Allow what comes next to linger out there in the ether for a little while. Allow the nutrients of indecision and unknowing to soak into your being and restore your juiciness. You'll emerge better for it. You'll arise with new ideas, new projects, new life simply because you didn't rush it. You didn't stuff something in just to assuage the discomfort. Allow what's next to come to you out of the elixir of your fertile mind. This is just the space between the notes that gives music its melodious sound.

                                                           In the Spirit,

                                                                 Jane