Gonna be another scorcher today, but I do love the early mornings to myself, on the porch with fresh coffee, cuddled into soft breezes and birdsong. Gymnastic red squirrels are twirling their way along the clothesline toward the bird feeders in the hopes of making a successful leap into a pile of breakfast. The birds themselves aren’t bothered; they come swooping in over the fields or up from the wetlands calling ahead their table reservation and the squirrels have enough sense to get out of the way. No ravens this morning, but lots of blackbirds, woodpeckers and bright-as-a-lemon drop finches. Because of the heat and rain in the forecast for the next few days (let it be so, please) I mowed and trimmed yesterday morning. It takes about 3 hours to do the areas around the house, a rather zen routine that brings the little tractor and I back to the shed slick and filthy with the fuss. It was a great excuse to scoot down to the lake afterwards for a cooling swim and a short snooze under the trees. But this morning everything looks tidy and that pleases me. From the porch I can see the deep tangerine of squash blossoms beneath their canopy of broad leaves heavy with dew. Tomato and cucumber and pea vines are climbing the arches as we’d hoped they might. Last evening’s salad included our first garlic scapes along with greens and peas. Early harvests have already been preserved in their various ways, tucked into freezer and pantry. Radishes, spinach, pesto, jam. The chickens are happy judging by the eggs they provide and the funny little quirks of affection they scatter into our nest. Its only been 9 months as of today, but it feels like we’ve been here a lot longer. Such is the sense of belonging devoid of entitlement. My early years were on a farm and this relocation has been a deliberate return to the best parts of that time. We may do some things a little differently than our forebears, but the cyclical concert with Nature at the conductor’s podium remains unchanged. One hard hailstorm could wipe it all away. Winds have already taken down a tree that stood strong for 150 years; we are grateful for the firewood and minimal damages, but reminded that all things change. Mulch from that tree will feed next years gardens and we will just keep doing our best. With many quiet kindnesses from wise and thoughtful neighbours. With just enough land to sustain us in exchange for good stewardship. With lots of contemplative coffee mornings from which to sit quietly and observe, plan, be humbled and glad. The moon is still high in the western sky. The tree tops are rarely still. There is a task-list in my head, as there is every morning, but this quiet hour is mine to enjoy; to listen and watch as the world awakens. In some ways, it is the best part of coming home.
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LightHearted Farm 