Farm

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Refuge

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Refuge

It might feel easy to idealize life on a farm. Space. Animals. Days under the warm sun, surrounded by and cultivating beauty. Being your own boss. Owning your time. Zach and I certainly have idealized this kind of life. How do you think our butts ended up here? Idealism has its place—right? Couldn’t a person consider it one aspect of the dreaming? Isn’t is a part of the formula that drives us to something different . . . better than the reality we currently inhabit? And don’t we all want that—something better? It is part of the human nature, I believe. Therefore, I don’t chide myself too hard when life is less than idyllic. Just because we went for the dream, doesn’t mean we were under any illusion that it would be smooth sailing. Or sailing at all. But what is the point of ignoring the thing that pulls on you so hard, you can’t help but follow the yarn to the knot?

. . . even if it is just to see it unravel, in ways you never would have imagined. And then realizing that “better” is in your hands.

Power to the Pollinators

Full Disclosure: I am kind of a geek. A pollinator geek. It started innocently enough. As a little girl, running wild in rural Vermont, I was drawn to the fields of daisies, black-eyed Susans, stinking bob and queen Anne’s lace. Consequently, I became acquainted with the bees and butterflies that frequented the same fields. Color, shape, movement—it was all very magical to me. I remember running at top speed, through the head-high grasses and flowers one day, mouth agape (either in joy or breathlessness, who knows) and suddenly feeling the furry, bulky buzz of a bumble bee between my bottom lip and teeth.