Returning to the soil: Gardening as form of embodied knowledge
This post was written by Bendy Sohn as a part of his 2025 O’Shaughnessy Global Food Fellowship.
For two weeks, I embarked on a journey of discovery, memory, soil, and gestures. This research began as a personal quest to learn how to farm from my father virtually. I aimed to uncover the lessons that were lost within those constraints. My father is a subsistence farmer and deacon in Liberia, and I wanted to learn from him not just through words, but through the quiet, embodied knowledge that is passed down from hands to land.
As a child of Liberian migrants, I’ve often felt the weight of distance—cultural, emotional and geographical. This fellowship is an avenue to attempt to close that gap, I wanted to not just witness but how my father taught, through tools, gestures, repetition and unspoken understanding. and my research asks: How Liberia’s indigenous farming practices facilitate the transfer of knowledge across generations? What gets passed down when we plant together, dig together, sit with the land together? My project lives in that space—between adaption, memory, labor, and care.
My approach to answering my research questions was based on presence, repetition, and relational learning. Instead of collecting data in a traditional sense, I aimed to reconnect, observe thoroughly, and learn through experience and reflect. I understood clearly that my father's knowledge was not only found in the words he spoke but also in the consistent actions he carried out.
Arriving in Liberia in early August during the rainy season posed some challenges, as there were only a few days each week when the rain was light or absent. My father suggested that certain plants would thrive in this climate during that time. Navigating the rain—both working against it and with it—taught me the importance of patience as I waited for the downpour to subside before heading to the site. Before we began any activities, we created a schedule to help us stay organized and focused on our responsibilities and goals.
My father took me to his land, a vast area of greenery surrounded by a giant palm tree. We surveyed the land and mapped out how much we wanted to clear for our project. The following day, we set out to find all the materials we would need. My father suggested we gather a hook, a shovel, a pair of boots for him, a rake, and a machete. He specifically suggested one of each tool, as he wanted us to share the responsibility by taking turns. After collecting the tools, we visited his neighbors to trade seeds. For the seeds we couldn't find, we went to an informal farmers' market, where a wide variety of seeds were available at affordable prices. The seeds we collected were for water spinach, okra ,and palava sauce. These three plants my father would plant during the rainy season. During our time together that day, my father asked me about my connection to land in the United States. I struggled to find an answer since I didn't have a direct connection. He then advised me to create one, explaining that learning how to farm or garden is an essential part of being self-sufficient as an individual. He emphasized the importance of knowing where our food comes from and how it gets to us. Later that day, I wonder how my food gets to me before I digest it? Who planted it and how long did it take to harvest ? I reflected on how I did not have a connection to land in the U.S and chasing for one in Liberia.
Photo by Bendy Sohn
The following day, I visited the site with my father and brother. Before we started any work, we took a moment to pray. We then began the task of brushing and clearing the land. I found this process very challenging. My father started brushing and demonstrated the technique for me. He worked for a few minutes while I watched closely. I observed that clearing was a technique-based action; from his form, it was evident that the motion was consistent and thorough. Although the action seemed simple, I quickly learned that it was less about physical strength and more about technique and endurance. I felt a sense of insecurity because I did not perform at the same speed and efficiency as my father. He reminded me that my body hadn't fully grasped the task yet. I wonder what it means for physical labor to be not only seen as a task but also as a form of knowledge. This shifted my understanding of gardening, as digging, clearing, and planting became languages of experiences I was not familiar with and will require more repetition to grasp them.
As I worked through the tall grasses, I used a hook we fashioned from some found wood to gather and direct the cut grass to a specific spot on one side. I quickly realized how important it was to work efficiently, but I also felt the strain on my back from the repetitive movements after just a few minutes. The grass seemed to weigh more the deeper I went into it. My father reminded me that making sounds would help keep up our motivation as we tackled the clearing. We teamed up to clean the area, taking turns in a rotation: first my father, then me, followed by my brother. Together, we decided to set up three garden beds, each designed for different seeds.
In the following days, we focused on digging walkways between each garden bed. These walkways were designed to separate the plants and allow us to observe their growth more easily. We then turned over the rich soil, noting its dark and milky appearance, which indicated its high nutrient content. Using a shovel, I lifted and turned the soil while my father leveled it with a rake to create an even surface. Once we had prepared the soil, my father cut small branches from a nearby tree to mark the spots where we planted the seeds. This technique helped us keep track of where each seed was planted. We then began making signs for each garden bed and started planting the seeds in their designated areas, making sure to space them out from one another. For the palava sauce seeds, my dad noted that they need to be sprinkled on the soil instead of being buried like the other seeds. We then proceeded to put the stick over the seed we buried in the soil. How long would it take for these seeds to harvest, since it is the rainy season would the climate disrupt the growth ? These questions ponder my mind.
During this productive week, time seemed to slow down, and my understanding of land, labor, and place changed. I had always viewed labor as a means to complete a task, but while gardening, I realized it was more of a struggle that required me to slow down. I needed to focus not just on finishing the task but also on appreciating its significance to my roots. And also how I learned that “doing something right” should not be my primary concern; instead, allowing myself to be patient and open to learning was far more valuable. Land to me was seen as something I just admired from a far, but nearly interacted with closely, through my observation land became a living archive of memory, labor and belief.
I left Liberia with new knowledge of gardening, a routine that involves care, rhythm, repetition and intergenerational resilience. It also involves adapting to climate changes as it works hand in hand. What was passed to me can’t be held in a notebook—it lives in the gestures that were enacted along by my father, the challenges within the gestures were a learning moment along the ones that were semi familiar.
Photo by Bendy Sohn