I live in the city, but my heart is on the farm.
Soft dirt beneath my boots, the morning dew wicking up my denim-clad legs as I wade through prairie grasses…standing in silent awe beside the silhouette of tall corn as shooting stars cross the sky…the city lights shining somewhere beyond the horizon and memory. These are the moments I love.
Some days at home I wonder what I’ve done, but on the farm, work is tangible. You can trim a row of trees and see what you’ve accomplished. You can harvest a bucket of grapes and reach for the next empty container. You know you’ve done something…you can see it. At the end of the day you can feel it…and sometimes the next day, too.
As the summer fades and autumn waffles between blissful days and the promise of future snow…we go outside. We get all farm-y.
In the past 10 days, we’ve helped a friend harvest grapes at their vineyard. We’ve kicked up our heels in an old barn loft at a gosh-darned, honest-to-goodness hootenanny and trimmed 5,000 hardwoods on our own hilly piece of heaven.
Travel doesn’t equal luxury. You don’t have more fun when you spend more cash. You don’t have to go far away to get far away. And sometimes satisfaction comes when you break a sweat.
WideEyedRambler 