Greetings Friends and Neighbors, There is distinctly crystalline quality to this time of year, the fleeting weeks between high Summer and Autumn. The Farm adorns itself in dew-studded finery as it begins to usher forth a final flush of Grass. Trevor and Angus, the two steers learning to work as oxen, wait eagerly in the close corner of their night paddock, and take off at a full canter towards the Barn once I open the gate. Young Maria, the newly-arrived Jersey heifer calf, allows me slip the rope-halter over her nose and behind her ears and we walk together, haltingly, toward the Barn. I clip the three of them and then head out to collect their milk. Tigger and Topsy, the Farm’s two dark-eyed Jersey Cows, graze a strip on the far-Eastern edge of the Farm’s fields. The laneway that leads in their direction is made from two strands of electric fence wire supported at intervals by fiberglass posts. The parallel lines rise and fall with the roll of the ground. Sun has begun his ascent from beyond the broad Lake and the distant hills, coming to grant us another day here at the Farm. And the glint of this newly-arriving day catches on the dew-laden meadow thick with purple Clover flowers and the glossy metal strands in the electric fence wire stretching down the laneway. The scene meets my open eyes as nothing short of a miracle. Spring birdsong has given way to the unceasing pulse of Crickets, and here in the meadow they vibrate the cool morning air. The chanted enchantment of late-Summer. I walk the laneway aware that this fleeting moment is already gathering itself towards Fall. Only in its ebbing does the season fully betray its beauty.
Adam, I am hugely enjoying what you’re doing on and with the Farm, and your thoughtful and inspiring writing about it. All best, Janie (a grateful Vermont patron of your yummy bread over the years).
Adam, I am hugely enjoying what you’re doing on and with the Farm, and your thoughtful and inspiring writing about it. All best, Janie (a grateful Vermont patron of your yummy bread over the years).