Our subculture

One of my best friends visited the farm this past week. She's a lawyer from DC, we went to college together, have traveled together, have shared some of life's more intimate moments, and see eye to eye politically and humanistically. But I never can get past just how how foreign her experience of my environment is.

It's such an incredible reminder for me when I experience my life through her new eyes. When I remember that not everyone lives in a tent, makes bread from scratch, and knows intimately where every part of their dinner comes from.

Every time she comes to visit my foodie haven on this left coast, she leaves me with new insights and ideas about how I am living now and perhaps how I can evolve my life practice. Her most salient comment this last trip was an appreciation she made about the culture that I exist in.

You know the one, that young-hip-urban-rural-radical-artistic-back-to-the-farm-life-cooking-dancing-biking-punky-outdoors-intellectual crowd that I have surrounded myself with. Perhaps I had thought about it before, noticed that there were more people around with similarities in style and cadence- but when she encapsulated it with that word- culture- that's when it really hit home.

We organic farmer gardener activists have an honest to goodness subculture. A translatable traversing of time and space cross borders. An ongoing conversation between people who can already finish eachother's sentences, and who will always invite you in to supper. Having mulled over it since she flew home, I've noticed it more, and mentioned it to a few. How lucky are we? To be part of something that's bigger, to be creating and feeding off of some giant upwelling of support. I'm thankful for that subculture. It's like coming home.