Spring has returned to Michigan, bringing with it the familiar rhythm of the farming season. Yesterday I found myself walking the edges of fields where water had carved paths during winter thaws, checking the vibrant green rye cover crop and preparing for this year’s planting. These are the moments that slow me down and focus my attention—not just on the land, but on what it takes to carry something forward.
The Gentle Art of No-Till
We practice no-till planting on our farm. It’s a choice rooted in both sustainability and stewardship. By planting directly into the cover crop, we:
- Preserve soil structure and health
- Maintain beneficial microbial communities
- Conserve moisture during Michigan’s unpredictable summers
- Reduce fuel usage and equipment wear
- Prevent erosion in our rolling fields
But beyond these environmental benefits, no-till reflects a deeper belief: that progress doesn’t always mean disruption. Sometimes, it means building gently on what’s already there, respecting the foundations while making room for new growth.
From Farm Fields to Server Fields
That same belief guides much of my work in public service and technology. At Michigan State University—and before that, with the State of Michigan—I’ve learned that modernization doesn’t mean throwing out tradition. The most successful digital transformations honor institutional knowledge while bringing new capabilities forward.
Whether I’m in the field or at a whiteboard, the principles remain consistent:
- Listen first
- Disturb less
- Leave it better than you found it
Sometimes the most effective solutions aren’t the flashiest or most disruptive—they’re the ones that fit seamlessly into existing systems, enhancing rather than replacing what works.
A Generational Transition
This season feels different, though. My dad is getting older, and more of the responsibility to manage the farm has shifted to my brother and me. It’s a quiet transition, not marked by any one moment—but noticeable in all of them.
I see it in the way we double-check equipment without being asked, in the decisions we make together, and in the way we talk about “next year” like it’s ours to shape. There’s both weight and honor in this gradual handover—a reminder that stewardship isn’t about ownership, but about care and continuation.
The Value of Patience
Farming season is always busy, but it’s also grounding. It’s a reminder that good work takes time. That real outcome—whether in a field, a government office, or a digital transformation—comes from steady effort, trust in the process, and care for the people involved.
The crops we plant today won’t be ready until late September. The soil health we build might not show its full benefits for years. But that’s the point: meaningful work rarely happens overnight.
A Request to All Michiganders
As you travel Michigan’s roads for this spring, you’ll likely see more tractors, more dust, and more slow-moving vehicles. Please give farmers space and grace. The work we’re doing may look old-fashioned, but it’s deeply connected to modern life and future generations.
Those slow vehicles are carrying people making careful decisions about food security, environmental impact, and rural economies. That dust is the temporary cost of feeding communities and stewarding land for decades to come.
Looking Forward
Just like any good project, this farming season depends on patience, teamwork, and a willingness to adapt. The challenges are many—unpredictable weather, market fluctuations, increasing input costs—but so are the rewards.
As I walk back from the field edge, watching red-winged blackbirds darting between fence posts and hearing the distant hum of a neighbor’s tractor, I feel deep contentment. This work connects me to generations before and after, to the land itself, and to principles that guide all my work.
And I wouldn’t trade the view from here for anything.