It's been only a little more than a week on this farm and I feel like I'm home. It took less than 24 hours of landing here before we were 'at home' here. Every other night Kelley and I have collaborated on dinner and we manage to pour the resources together and come up with a farm fresh spread of grilled sweet corn, caprese salad, roasted beets, green beans, farm-raised chicken and more. She's a genius in the kitchen. The week has been full of making pickles and picking corn. There is so much more than a garden here. Kelley has her apron on and she's canning and cooking and picking and pruning. The beautiful flowers are in vases spread out in her house and mine. Everything tastes fresh. I see her as the sun rises bent over planting with her boots tucked into her jeans and her hands in the dirt. It's organic and real and hard work. Scott has his boots on too and his tractor supply hat pulled where the shadow covers his eyes and he's busy studying the cows and rabbits. He holds steady on one or two cows as he contemplates which one will be profitable. Their demeanor is uncovered and patient and steady. The barn is full of childrens' voices and farm equipment. Yesterday's sheep wool and a bucket of weeds.
Micah leads the pack of the little adventurer's crossing the Great Divide between their house and ours. It's a short 10 minute walk and yet a world of freedom for the 7 and unders. They pack backpacks and explore and study and build and imagine together. My Lilly says every day she is feeling so thankful for friends next door. They wake wondering how long until they can play. Three more weeks of summer and the school schedule will alter their days. For now, it's like days they haven't known of friends so close they can play at will and be called in for dinner at sunset. On rainy days their own imaginary world exists in the hay loft that is complete with a homemade stage and theater. Their minds seem to come alive inside those wooden walls. Rowyn, 5, is usually bursting with news or excitement over her latest idea or invention. She's not the bow-wearing type. She's tough and farm-raised. She is sandwiched between boys and chores are a morning default. On the way to VBS last week, the kids were all in the back splitting up chores, discussing who would feed the meat birds, the rabbits, the sheep, pick tomatoes, give the pigs water, feed the chickens, etc. Micah is 7, almost 8, and a natural ring leader who got outnumbered by girls overnight. He is farm saavy and smart, helpful and hospitable. He stays back with Kelton, 2, who is blonder than all of them, quiet and sweet-spirited. Kelley's mom is always chasing him or on the floor doing a puzzle, playing the piano or helping in the kitchen. Nana is a delight to all!
They all come to our house some and I'm buried under boxes and the unpacking is slow.
Friday night we got together with friends and shared fresh produce on the porch. A slow dinner with glasses raised in celebration. We're all together. Kids roaming free on the farm. Splendid. It's honestly what I missed the most from our time in Haiti.
It's too hard to get the kids in bed on time because it's 70 and breezy and way too pleasant to end conversation. Everyone pays a little price the next day. I'm up early at sunrise to hit the road for a run before everyone is awake. It's cool and foggy. It's peaceful with no lights or noise. I meet Rebecca to run and I'm grateful for her, a running partner, an effortless connection over the county roads. We talk about races and routes and parenting and produce.
I run back onto the farm and there's the farm crew butchering chickens. 35 of them. I feel oddly out of place without my butchering get up on and my lack of knowledge of this process. Kelley's participation impresses me and I close my eyes tight so as not to be an eye witness.
Farmer and Scott are kind of two peas in a pod. They think a like and act a like and talk a like. They share an office and are in and out through the day. Their work is going well. Farmer seems to be the happiest I have ever seen him. He is running several mornings a week and there is a new skip in his step. He is recovering from hurts and wounds that went deep. He has poured himself whole heartedly into the visions of this life now and in the days to come. It is so fun to be a part a witness to the transformation in him.
My transformation is probably less elegant and more shock. I was having this secret moment in Harris Teeter where I was bubbly on the inside. A clean and cheeky grocery store. The carts have a little holder for my Starbucks decaf. I perused the aisles with my inner state of glee. My children were at VBS and I was grocery shopping alone. I reached for the pie crust and had trouble deciding between store brand or name brand. An employee saw my distress and recommended I try store brand or money back guarantee. He quickly struck up a conversation and I couldn't conceal it any longer. I was overwhelmingly happy to return to a real grocery store with no children and with so many options that was only 20 minutes from home. (Of course I still need my GPS to get home since I don't know my way around at all.) Thank you Harris Teeter for making my week.
I put the pie crust to use for a tomato tart for Scott's birthday dinner. Which started with burgers and ended with fresh berry galette and ice cream on the front porch. It was a small way to celebrate and give Kelley a night off from cooking. It was easy to let the dishes sit and enjoy the cool evening with content children and close friends. There's really no need to search for a reason to celebrate ... there's fresh food, friends, and freedom here. The cool weather makes it all the more enjoyable. Mr. Potts is 90 years old and mowing our grass. He reminds us all to pick as much sweet corn as we can load into our kitchens.
Of course when the sheep get out of their pasture like the other night, we go from flip flops to boots and set our glasses down all in less than a minute. And then we're friends turned farmers and we're all calling and corralling them. It's an adventure here.
Our refrigerator is extremely loud. Kind of like Magic Bullet crunching ice loud. The other night we are sitting down for dinner and I ask Aves what she is thankful for to which she replies as the refrigerator came on "Thank you, Jesus, for the generator." Some things stick. She always associates electricity as a gift and something that turns off just as easily as it turns on.
The girls walk to the fence and say good morning to the cows. The cows stare at the girls and I imagine that both parties are mutually fascinated.
We are getting use to no house key and a lot of free range. It makes my heart happy to see us all aglow.
1 comment:
I just love all these pictures - seeing your friends, your world, the process of living the farm life. And I am OH SO jealous! :)
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