Brought to you by the prefix re-

Re- agin, back, backwards. These last few days I’ve been reeling, I’ve been reing. I’ve been reacting, reassessing, reasoning, respiring with limited repose. I’ve been repairing, replanting, reflecting, remembering reaching green fields and really relying on reincarnation. It is again, back, backwards, but for many things there’s no going back. In our short growing season there’s no room to rewind. For now it’s the regaining of momentum, the rekindling of plant relationships and reattempting with resolve.

It is said that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. On Tuesday night in Grenada, we reached a low of  27 degrees and I can tell you that it didn’t make many of my plants stronger. I knew that it was going to freeze and by moonlight, for when the sun goes down so does the wind, Jonathan and I made sure that everything had a cover and was protected. I knew that the weather would play with us farmers a little, that nature would trow in the quintessential late spring sucker punch, but this one was completely below the belt, not cool dude!

 

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Change & Rain

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The Land is turning to Farm and Home. The chicken coop into a greenhouse, a shed into a chicken coop, a field into beds, a house into a home, a stray into a lap cat, dormant branches into buds bursting and bird filled skies into blue bird skies into a new shade of cloud cover. Clouds, gray and purple, electric filled,  unbuttoning their rain filled pockets, our reintroduction to a distantly familiar tune and aroma, RAIN.

           It’s been a new destination, a new journey. Languages new to me, foreign  yet I know some of the words. I’m immersed and learning as quickly as I can. The birds are telling me things; they’re collecting threads and sticks and chirping “love?” and “nest!.” The soil is talking, but I am not experienced enough to decipher its requests, further tipping my ear patiently. The plants are swaying out their charades, it’s windy and warm and their new bed may not have all they desire. Oh boy, it’s a dance, a jig, a puzzled glance, a stewardship of a culture, one whose food I know I’ll love, but I’m not yet sure if I have the customs right. A language and labor of LOVE.
chicken coop greenhouse

chicken coop greenhouse

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Hedwig, my farm companion.

Hedwig, my farm companion.

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Home!

Home!