Farming in the Blue Ridge

When people use the word “farm,” images of John Deere tractors often come to mind.*  People picture wide fields of crops.    But here in the Blue Ridge, the tradition of farming is linked to the tradition of the mountains – to smaller fields, herds,...

When the Farm Fills with Words and Song

This morning, I feel a bubble of energy, excitement, enthusiasm growing just behind my ribcage as I think about all the amazing people who have and will come to share their art at the farm. John Francis graced us with the gift of his music at our wedding.  Joy Ike and...

Not Yet a Year, And Yet . . .

It has not yet been a year that I’ve lived here.  Not yet a year of waking up in the farmhouse’s largest room.  Not yet a year of living with only one drawer in the kitchen. Not yet a year of Meander waking in the night and having to check for a skunk...

Maybe I’m a Recluse

When I pull back onto your farm after a wonderful evening with good people talking about good things and feel a sigh of relief and pleasure so intense that I almost cry, it becomes time to question whether I might be a bit of a recluse.  This week, I have left the...

Pulled Away

Right now, my shoulders are up by my ears, and I can feel the tension of the day lodged at the back of my rib cage.  I need to get out on the farm and work. I’ve been swamped of late – with Relay For Life and teaching and editing.  All work I love, but I...