The Farm, Abbreviated.

I woke up at 9 am. I dragged my slippered feet out of the bedroom, making my way towards the kitchen on the other end of the farmhouse. Every room I passed smelled like weed. Yesterday was my turn to drive the truck to NYC to sell our wares at the Greenmarket. Those 20 hour, 3:30am-11pm, days really took the wind out of my sail. To say the least, I wasn’t in the mood to cook. Someone had left some lukewarm coffee in the pot, and a couple half burnt eggs in the 18” cast iron skillet. Score. I put the eggs on a piece of bread, and looked at the chickens through the kitchen window. I wondered which hen’s unborn child I was eating. I walked outside onto the front porch. From that vantage I got a panoramic view of nearly all 11 acres of the farm. Several people were in the main field, presumably picking greens for tomorrow’s market, while someone was running up the field, doing cartwheels.