Sometimes the days run together. When I think about it real hard I can come up with what day I think it is. I don't feel confused or out of sorts it just kinda of works like that during busy times on the farm. Today was not just Friday, more importantly it was transplanting day. Yesterday and the day before were planting days. Some weeks are barn weeks or garden weeks. Monday through Sunday makes no difference when things need to get done. Two weeks from now we start kidding then shortly after we'll be lambing. The hours of the day are just that. It makes no difference what time it is. What matters is the night time temperatures, day light length, wind speed and direction and soil temperature and rain.
When the sun comes up its starting time, when the sun starts to go down its quitting time. Time to put a good meal and a cold beer in me. My feet up, a book or a rented movie to watch on the computer and of course a few Ibuprofen. There is stillness in all this for me, a sense of well being. A feeling that I earned my keep. that's more satisfying than else I could think of. Each day I catch myself lost in gratitude.
Tomorrow is brunch with good friends the last time until late summer any and all of us will have time to gather, laugh share stories and break bread. The season begins and many around the table tomorrow will be embarking on a new season of growing food and making a life. Its the busy time. We'll hug each other in passing at the farmers market and call or e-mail for encouragement but for the most part each of us will spend the next six months in isolation. I at least will have the benefit of many visitors to our farm table dinners. I'll get to share stories meet delightful and interesting people and hopefully cook them one of the best meals of their life But until then I'll be still and quiet, listening to the sounds of the farm, aware, awake and grateful.