Pruning the Past, Preparing the Future
Thoughts from the Tractor Seat By Ken Polehn
Ken Polehn
The holidays fade fast. One moment the house is full of noise and Christmas warmth… and then suddenly January settles in, quiet and honest. Out here, we don’t plant in January.
We prune.
While the rest of the world rushes into resolutions, farmers step into the orchard with sharpened shears and a slower kind of determination. Winter pruning is deliberate work — removing what steals strength, keeping what will bear real fruit. It’s a discipline that shapes the whole year long before the first bud breaks.
My grandfather understood that kind of work. Born in February of 1886, he came into the world at a time when history was preparing both greatness and darkness — the same era that produced tyrants and dreamers, villains and saints. But he was neither loud nor famous. He was steady. Grounded. One of those quiet men whose wisdom lingered long after the words were spoken.
He used to say, “A tree only grows strong where you give it room.” And he’d show me, with slow hands and patient eyes, how to see future fruit in the bare bones of winter wood.
He never quoted scripture, but the truth of it lived in him — the idea that sometimes the branches that look the healthiest are the very ones you have to take off, because they steal the light from where the real fruit grows.
That’s the heart of pruning: strengthening by removing, protecting by cutting back. A principle as old as vineyards and as enduring as faith itself.
As I work through the rows each January, I hear his voice layered with that old teaching — not preached, not announced, just understood:
Cut away what drains life. Keep what bears it.
Simple. Hard. True.
By March the sap will rise again.
By April the blossoms will open like promises.
By July the trees will reveal whether we had the courage to do the winter work.
A New Year isn’t so different.
Most of the meaningful changes happen quietly, without applause — choosing what to let go of, what to nurture, what future we want to grow toward. It’s pruning of another kind, but pruning all the same.
So as winter settles in, I’m thinking less about resolutions and more about this slow, sacred work — in the orchard and in life. What do I need to remove so something better can take root? What branches of worry or habit or distraction have grown wild and need trimming back? What part of my life needs more light?
These are the questions winter invites.
And the answers, if we’re honest, prepare the blessing of the seasons ahead.
From my tractor seat to your family — may your winter pruning make room for the fruit, the beauty, and the peace waiting in the coming spring.
Wishing you a peaceful prosperous New year.
About the Author
I was born in 1961 into a second-generation farm family in The Dalles. I grew up on a tractor seat, moving irrigation pipe with my sisters before school, and spent my summers picking cherries alongside the children of migrant families who returned year after year. My wife, children, and parents have all worked the same land. I’ve served as county Farm Bureau president, sat on the county fair board, and continue to support 4-H and FFA. I’ve seen firsthand what happens when farmers are squeezed out—not just of business, but of the conversation.
