10 Days In

I had no idea what I was getting in to. 10 days in I can safely say that I sorely underestimated how taxing this program would be. My biceps and triceps and calves and thighs can attest to it. As can the flailing state of the myriad of commitments that I made before moving on to the farm. 10 days in, I can officially say: this program is officially kicking my rear.

If it weren’t for the waking up at dawn, or riding up the steep hillsides that separate the farm, the garden and town, or the working physically for the first time in years; perhaps I wouldn’t be reeling as I am now. And maybe had I been unfazed by those activities; perhaps the working part time producing the movie, the tending to summer dahlias, and the maintenance of my long-standing relationships would have done me in.

Regardless of the reasons, I am exhausted. I am finding myself crawling toward my tent at night, slurring my words, rubbing my allergy stricken eyes and looking forward to cozying up to the hot water bottle that has become my nightly bed guest.

But as I nest down under the multi layered comforters that insulate me from the damp chill, my reasons for exhaustion fade, and all I am left with is the utter contentment that I am exactly where I want to be, doing exactly what I want to be doing. And as the little sign in the garden chalet says I am here for a reason. 

Weekend Respite

Living on this farm is existence in a capsule. Time and space cease to exist. I moved three miles up hill, and I'm on a different planet, surrounded by a new population. Detached from familiarity. Suspended in spring.

 

It's been overwhelming to move out of my well established, much contented existence in Santa Cruz into a new space with 39 intensely passionate individuals. Social interaction has zapped much of my energy as we have bounced from one well planned activity to the next. Between that, physically working, and carting my sore bones from the farm up to the garden and back, there has been little juice left in me to perform menial tasks. Basic hygiene has slumped into the role of a previous priority, over taken by homework, lifework, relationship maintenance, and general adjustment.  

Ushered in by a Friday afternoon of fairly strenuous compost pile building, the weekend has enveloped the farm with stillness. The group breaking up into pods of forming friendships and splinters of solitude. My body and mind were ready to rest. Exhausted, I welcome it. 

Westerlies

He called them the westerlies. Winds blown in from the pacific, bringing spring change onto the farm. We lost three tents to the gale force ladies as they swept across the giant meadow that boarders our farm towards the sea. Those who lost their tents bonded immediately with their neighbors, asking to sleep on their floors and borrow extra blankets. Someone lit a fire in the library and those too cold to return to their solitary quarters piled onto the couches and surrounded the wood stove to start their assignments. As I stepped over bodies to cross the room, I had the realization that inside space is limited. It's become blatantly apparent that sharing space isn't an option here- there is no other choice.

After a day of biking up the hill to the garden, skimming cover crops, and protecting apples from codling moths, twenty or so of us are sitting around the tables in the farm center, a guitar strumming softly in the back ground, a mixture of cards and computers on the long wooden table. We don't yet know each-other's intimacies, but we're close by default. Brought together by a common love, and the cold westerly winds that leave no option- but to share. 

First Day on the Farm

I have finally arrived. 

Woke up in my tent at the top of the world. Dawn breaking over the cover-cropped fields at the UCSC apprenticeship program, the view of the Monterey Bay spreading over the horizon stretching south towards home.

There are 39 of us. Hailing from all walks of life. Cooks, Gardeners, Horticulturists, Teachers, Musicians-- Food Enthusiasts all. I couldn't feel more blessed. Ultimately, this group will become an extension of my educational experience-- their multitude of energy and knowledge augmenting what the garden itself will teach. And as we wandered through the introductions and the registration, all of us are thinking the same thing. Are we really here? Or is this just an extension of our dreams.

It's really to full and beautiful to be real.

More anon.