And I taste in my natural appetite
the bond of live things everywhere. – from “cutting greens” by Lucille Clifton
I don’t know what this place feels like to you. . . but for me, this place – where things seem to be coming together just as they should, where opportunities fall like petals from a brown-eyed susan in my hair, where it seems that being with realness and honesty and truth sparked kindly on my lips – feels like sunshine streaming down my arms to my fingers and the breath of mist in the fog settled on my head.
A few minutes ago, two puppies and four goats tumbled together down into the pasture, all legs and the laughter of movement. Upstairs, a man I adore sleeps in while I visit his new workshop and see how he has pegged his love to the wall in Jeeps and the organizational strength I just do not have.
The notebook beside me is full of the names of women writers who – by way of my simple invitation – will fill
The past weeks have been full of friends – happy to get muddy and let goats nibble their pants, to bear up under the pricks of tiny kitten claws, to watch chickens continue to grow into their bodies. Visitors, members of this place with us.
Sometimes, this kind of contentedness draws up my tears.
This kind of happiness – no, joy, joy is a better word – can bowl me over, leave me stunned at beauty.
But I have a garden to hoe and a house to tidy. I have tiny x’s of color to stitch onto fabric that friends have gifted me over years. And maybe, I will spend some time on Vulcan taming our grass.
Farm life comes simple and steady . . . a long rain, a slow, quiet hike, a friendship built on years.
We do hope you’ll come join us in this place and build it – and our friendship – over the years. We’re always open for a stop – bathroom, tea, a little stretching of your legs on a roadtrip – or an overnight – camping is open anytime you’d like to come. Or join us for the upcoming concerts and Writer’s Retreat.