How he writes love poems.

[4-2-21]

It may look like a hole. And, it is. But this hole is how he writes his love poems and stories. His labor is his love. He never stops until the dream is complete. He hears my visions that are details and feelings and builds a world around them.

We have been dreaming of a farm together since we first were whispering notes of freedom, our someday farmhouse. Last summer he gave it to me. The promise of right now, not waiting, using the land we have, the place we make home.

I watch him dig holes for seven hours knowing he has four more, at least. I can’t fathom that kind of work. For him, it is simply another chapter of his love.

After twelve hours digging holes in the mud we have our fence posts in the ground.

Right next to the fence, the sweetest garlic shoots are our inspiration to keep going. The soil already tells us of the farmland past. It has been fourteen (I think) years since this old farmland was worked, when the houses were built and the land separated. As you dig down into the earth you see the history.

I am trying to not get ahead of myself. Everything this year is considered my classroom. What is it like to grow a carrot or garlic or cabbage or broccoli? I need to do so I can learn. I started onions too late. All of my seed starts are small but they are alive, willing, promising.

Last summer without amending the soil I dropped some seeds in to see if things would grow. And grow they did. Perfect food for our deer and rabbit friends!

So, the fence building continues. The love poems collected.

Dave’s one request of me was to have a plan for the first garden on the farm. He wanted specific row and walkway measurements and to see how all the vegetables would fit, to know how many cattle panel trellises and the timing of everything.

If you know me, these requests felt like someone reaching inside me and taking away all my free spirit!!!!!

Turns out, a little bit of planning only has increased my knowledge and understanding of what we are doing, hours spent watching YouTube videos and reading. He loves to be right and I love the deeper excitement I have as we begin one garden while talking about the next and the fruit trees and bees.

In just a few months I know so much more because I took a chance and made a plan. My plan can change, this is his promise because he knows I need to hear it. He is an engineer by training, I am an actor by training. We both landed in the business world, that is our common language. The business of creating a farm is now a shared passion.

I realized that I start every course just like this garden design. With a blank piece of paper, a pencil and a sharpie, sticky notes, lots of ideas and a whole lot of free spirit.

Whatever you are tending to with your hands, minds or hearts (garden, kids, kitchen, lover, new ideas, newsletters, jobs, feelings, needs, desires) there is space for all of you. There is space to learn, to experience and to flow.

We are writing love notes all the time: a beautiful meal, words of encouragement, laughter, candles lit on a spring altar, an outfit that makes us feel alive and true, a spring branch blooming inside, the perfect cup of steaming hot coffee. This letter I send on Fridays.

This morning I took my warmish coffee outside, said good morning to the chicken and walked over to where this beautiful someday-soon garden will be. The holes are filled with water from a rainstorm and so we wait until the sun comes out to do the next steps.

Another chapter. Another note. Another poem.