Land Folk

All week I’ve been sick. Here’s a poem from that—
It’s so cold in the hot center of me. The vast array of my ear is tuned to the crinkle of sounds that pulse and buzz inside my head. The little surprise internal poker spears a new sticky spring from my deaf side.
My will has washed me through the days but now sunset holds me moored to the bed while the walnut tree outside beckons me to either come out or keep my eyes open to watch the play of the light. I am here leaning into the moments as they pass gently, accumulating symptom by symptom, leaning into healing waiting for the sickness to pass.

We had lots of land meetings this week and it’s been great to be together. We missed the land’s 20th anniversary last year while we were out on the road but it seems we will never hone the agreements that will truly ease future inheritance questions. Our kids will just have to figure it out on their own. I hope the land will stay rural/agricultural as it is now but I know I can’t control that.

Michael and I also got to meet the GRUB collective who are farming on a portion of the land here. I really liked them and their enthusiasm and easy ways but didn’t get any group shots.
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Bee boxes are back with lots of enthusiastic bees on all the flowers but so are the horrible styrofoam ice chests that last about one use then degrade until they are thousands of tiny beads in the soil or water or bellies of wild beings.