"Places have specific ways of holding the last light of late evening, or gathering rain drops into long lines on tip-tap metal roof panels. Places carry specific tastes and smells. They emerge as recognizable patterns of fellowship and conversation." — Adam, you write the most beautiful love letters to the land. Thank you for inviting the rest of us to join you in the reading of them, and to begin composing, through mediums including our way of living, love letters of our own. Sending you warmest regards from amidst the canning of a morning batch of garden pickles.
I'm glad you can tell these are love letters. Perhaps it's more obvious than I imagine. I will pass along your note to Annie, and carry your words with me through the day. Best, Adam
Coming from a culture of competence and mastery, it's not easy to recognise that I am a complete novice in song-making. I notice that I want to find the straight immediate path to the victory story and it's completely understandable. I can start to be a bot more gentle on myself about that, but don't forget to notice how hollow that story is. I re-commit myself to making the mistakes I will make on the way, fumbling in the dark. To keep doing what I do not know how to do. Thank you Adam, your words are truly a blessing in the service of life.
Jeremy, I have already heard your song from clear around the other side. In your shaky voice and your courage to fail and get up again. In your willingness to give voice to heartbreak. The sad ones are always the most beautiful.
These words reflect something of my own experience at the moment. I would like to add something else I am feeling:
I am beginning to hear these songs of a place, which i feel has been singing to me my entire life. Only now am I ready to hear them and respond. And so these are songs rooted in space, in the earth, and they are also songs of this time, of the wind and the sky, this particular moment, this view of the river of destiny. Story, and Song, are perhaps the most beautiful ways (perhaps, when it comes down to it, the only ways) we can harmonise in time, and move through space in harmony with it...
This spring the acrid stink of burning plastic garbage was on the wind here at the Farm for days. The troubles don't stay in one place, nor do the medicine-stories. Thank you for the riff, Parsifal.
Thank you for reaching out, Nicole. It may have seemed like a good deal at some point, this becoming consumers, this withering of relational capacity. But the deal seems to have soured considerably. Best to you.
Relational withering—oof. It helps me to recognize that it was likely a good deal, creative and generative, at least in the imagination, as all things are at the outset.
Good to see you are back home. The songs of the Sand River Farm birds, flock, herd, crickets, neighbors and all the numerous dwellers still reverberating. Through a space where distance and proximity is not measured in miles and kilometers, rather in affections and correspondence of loves.
Tears sprang to my eyes as I read this today. I’m living now 1000 miles away from my home for the last 26 years, leaning in and listening to the songs of this new-to-me but ancient place. The idea that our human songs might be necessary is mind- and heart-opening. Thank you, dear Adam, for this gift.
I couldn’t be more grateful for your practice here and how it slowly seeps into the aquifers of the marrow and heart. What is so needed and precious here is the way you model. The tempo of wisdom is carried by our steps, one after the other into a world so worthy of our care and sweat. 🙏
Adam, I noticed your absence and hoped that you were taking some sort of respite. I am awed by your discipline to write and share on such a regular schedule. You model the ability to find an elegant rhythm, literally and figuratively. Thank you for your thoughtful and joyous gifts--seeds that you sow and tend in the service of nourishment. Welcome home!
What a generous note, Diane. Thank you. I've been wondering about the art-making we might brew up with you, now that Annie has brought her craft to the Farm. A good conversation for wintertime, I imagine. With care, Adam
Lovely, so lovely. People encouraged you to continue; I agree! I want to tell you not to worry, but as a worrier myself, I know that’s useless. So, how about this: I wish you joyful pondering and joyful writing, even when the topic is sad. Thank you for your lovely words.
Thank you, Laurie. I mostly worry about the great grandchildren, and our seeming incapacity to live for them, and all that is slipping away as we speak, and write, and stumble our way toward the tears we might shed together. Best, Adam
Thank you for this labor of love and community. I receive this gift with humble joy and gratitude. You help me to breathe in more deeply, and to imagine a better way.
"Places have specific ways of holding the last light of late evening, or gathering rain drops into long lines on tip-tap metal roof panels. Places carry specific tastes and smells. They emerge as recognizable patterns of fellowship and conversation." — Adam, you write the most beautiful love letters to the land. Thank you for inviting the rest of us to join you in the reading of them, and to begin composing, through mediums including our way of living, love letters of our own. Sending you warmest regards from amidst the canning of a morning batch of garden pickles.
I'm glad you can tell these are love letters. Perhaps it's more obvious than I imagine. I will pass along your note to Annie, and carry your words with me through the day. Best, Adam
Also, Annie Bingham's artwork is a joy to see. What a gift!
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
Thank you.
Yes.
With Love.
Thank you, Lisa. It means a lot.
Coming from a culture of competence and mastery, it's not easy to recognise that I am a complete novice in song-making. I notice that I want to find the straight immediate path to the victory story and it's completely understandable. I can start to be a bot more gentle on myself about that, but don't forget to notice how hollow that story is. I re-commit myself to making the mistakes I will make on the way, fumbling in the dark. To keep doing what I do not know how to do. Thank you Adam, your words are truly a blessing in the service of life.
Jeremy, I have already heard your song from clear around the other side. In your shaky voice and your courage to fail and get up again. In your willingness to give voice to heartbreak. The sad ones are always the most beautiful.
Thank you very deeply Adam.
These words reflect something of my own experience at the moment. I would like to add something else I am feeling:
I am beginning to hear these songs of a place, which i feel has been singing to me my entire life. Only now am I ready to hear them and respond. And so these are songs rooted in space, in the earth, and they are also songs of this time, of the wind and the sky, this particular moment, this view of the river of destiny. Story, and Song, are perhaps the most beautiful ways (perhaps, when it comes down to it, the only ways) we can harmonise in time, and move through space in harmony with it...
This spring the acrid stink of burning plastic garbage was on the wind here at the Farm for days. The troubles don't stay in one place, nor do the medicine-stories. Thank you for the riff, Parsifal.
Here, now, to hear and know
Adam, thank you for sharing your songs with us at the farm. I look forward to reading more of your wonderings. You articulate the poverty so well.
Thank you for reaching out, Nicole. It may have seemed like a good deal at some point, this becoming consumers, this withering of relational capacity. But the deal seems to have soured considerably. Best to you.
Relational withering—oof. It helps me to recognize that it was likely a good deal, creative and generative, at least in the imagination, as all things are at the outset.
Welcome back Adam. I missed you.
Thank you, Caro. Thank you.
Good to see you are back home. The songs of the Sand River Farm birds, flock, herd, crickets, neighbors and all the numerous dwellers still reverberating. Through a space where distance and proximity is not measured in miles and kilometers, rather in affections and correspondence of loves.
What beauty, Vesna. I found your gift and note upon my return, and will put a package in the mail to Rene. You are missed here already.
Tears sprang to my eyes as I read this today. I’m living now 1000 miles away from my home for the last 26 years, leaning in and listening to the songs of this new-to-me but ancient place. The idea that our human songs might be necessary is mind- and heart-opening. Thank you, dear Adam, for this gift.
Just gorgeous, Janie. Thank you.
Happy Return to your Place, dear one! And to your thinking-writing that is so sustaining for me.
Kx
Blessings and thanks to you, Kathryn.
I couldn’t be more grateful for your practice here and how it slowly seeps into the aquifers of the marrow and heart. What is so needed and precious here is the way you model. The tempo of wisdom is carried by our steps, one after the other into a world so worthy of our care and sweat. 🙏
Susan, Thank you for this kind note. Thank you very much.
Adam, I noticed your absence and hoped that you were taking some sort of respite. I am awed by your discipline to write and share on such a regular schedule. You model the ability to find an elegant rhythm, literally and figuratively. Thank you for your thoughtful and joyous gifts--seeds that you sow and tend in the service of nourishment. Welcome home!
What a generous note, Diane. Thank you. I've been wondering about the art-making we might brew up with you, now that Annie has brought her craft to the Farm. A good conversation for wintertime, I imagine. With care, Adam
Lovely, so lovely. People encouraged you to continue; I agree! I want to tell you not to worry, but as a worrier myself, I know that’s useless. So, how about this: I wish you joyful pondering and joyful writing, even when the topic is sad. Thank you for your lovely words.
Thank you, Laurie. I mostly worry about the great grandchildren, and our seeming incapacity to live for them, and all that is slipping away as we speak, and write, and stumble our way toward the tears we might shed together. Best, Adam
Thank you for this labor of love and community. I receive this gift with humble joy and gratitude. You help me to breathe in more deeply, and to imagine a better way.
Your kind words have landed here. Thank you, Cassie.
Life, flowing swiftly by, is to be lived, with love, gratitude, thoughtfulness, caring. We need to strive to do more of each each day.
Thank you for this beautiful note, Linda.