11/06/2022
Thursday the fog was so thick that they school closed.
Five of the six of us were in the kitchen making lunches when we got the call, and our collective reaction was a mix of winning the Powerball and zombie apocalypse. The kids started screaming and running in circles, ripping open bags of halloween candy Hulk style. Our billion-dollar-apocolypse joy was so infectious that Matt ran downstairs to his office and took the day off. By 8:30am, the kids were on the couch with fistfuls of candy and watching Pitch Perfect 2. Matt and I spent the morning clearing flower beds and dreaming about the next season of blooms.
Fog is magical.
I share this because itās been a while. Itās been a while since I shared about the farm, the flowers and our hopes for the future.
We have some 3800 tulip bulbs resting in storage and waiting to be planted. We have lists of seeds we plan to direct sow and pages of past-season notes eager to guide our future planting. And of course, we still have 250 rose shrubs and the budding anticipation of so much fragrance, elegance and delight.
So what is the future of the farm?
Honestly? I donāt know.
We most certainly will have tulips in Spring, but beyond that, we just donāt know.
My new job is not simply demanding of my time but it is increasingly demanding of my emotional energy. The mental health crisis is so real, and our young people are most certainly not immune. While I love the work, it is hard and heavy, and by the end of the week, Iām completely depleted.
When I allow myself to dream of the summer months, I imagine rest and rejuvenation. And while the farm is most certainly therapeutic, the business side of it most certainly is not.
My goal is to maintain what we have and maybe focus more intently on the health of our roses and our growing collection of peonies.
But truthfully, only time will tell.
In the meantime, we will plant tulip bulbs, daydream and plan for the farmās future beauty, and wish for fogās magic to return again soon.