On the Farm

Dear friend,

Hey there, you all. What's happening?  I'm settling in this morning from  a whirlwind little adventure, twenty-four blissful hours spent with my "Chattanooga family". There are two little girls in it that just so happened to turn ten years old Monday and it was such an honor to celebrate with them, eating their favorite supper (macaroni and cheese!) and releasing ten Japanese paper lanterns into the night sky. While they were in school, Sarah and I spent the afternoon at the little farm where she buys her milk and eggs. Such a jewel, this little place. I like to think that the Tennessee countryside is just littered with farms like this, tucked away and hidden from the old country roads, only discovered if you happen to know the right place to turn. Big, wonderful secrets.

The lady who owns it let us bring a picnic and spend the whole afternoon wandering, eating, sipping champagne, exploring. What a life she must have. In one room, she spins hand-dyed yarn by a sunny window. Her yarn is exquisite. It makes me wish for a parallel life: one where I can revel in the luxuries of time, and space, and connection to the land and my neighbors in a way I don't get in my city neighborhood.

But I love my city neighborhood. I think the sugar maples turned to fire overnight, while I was gone. Brilliant, crimson, vermillion, blazing, scorching clusters on ember trunks. I tend to think about the seasons sometimes in terms of a giant breathing in and out of the whole earth, with the pauses between the breaths being the stillness of midsummer and midwinter. In Fall, the earth breathes out.

Love,

Rebekka