This farm is a gift. We are how I image the best versions of ourselves when we are here. We have nestled in here so tightly it will take rubbing alcohol and tweezers to get us out.
Something about being on the farm, and maybe because of Powell's, but everyone is reading. It would be absolutely absurd to find someone curled up with a book at home in Salt Lake, not here at the farm. The farm is where you find a quiet corner and read.
Everyone pitches in to take care of the birds, to fix meals, to clean. "Let's go pick berries!" and kids put their shoes on and grab bowls. Colin gets excited to make pie!
I'm exhausted. In a good, purposful way. My children find purpose here. Maybe farm life is the life for us. I love city life, minutes from everything I need, annoyed if I have to drive 5, 10 minutes to pick up delicious food prepared for us in containers I don't have to wash. Everything here is planned and thought out and executed, there cannot be too much spontaneity and that is just great. No one has told me that they are bored.
The more you pick, the more they grow.
This duck has a story. Always a treat to find him back in the yard.
Thinking about the fleeting years I have with the boys, I can't help but wonder (actively wonder) if this unplugged farm life would be better than our ultra plugged in city life. But who can make these decisions in late July in Oregon? I'm not moving anywhere until I've spent a February here.
Here are some Farm Girl things I have done this week:
- captured 4 ducks who unwittingly escaped their yard and got them back safely
- picked up 3 goslings who found themselves trapped in the duck yard and gave them back to their worried parents
- carried pounds and pounds of water to waiting chickens and turkeys.
- plucked two ducks from the water tub when they got stuck.
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