Mother and I and all the dogs went to the farm on our regular midweek trip. John, middle son and the teacher, came with us.
We had visitors.
I’m thinking about making Wednesdays Farm Visit Wednesday for the summer.
It seems reasonable to share the magic of the place, even in the Texas heat.
Now I’m certain I am not using the word magic right because I sure don’t think we are paranormal out there nor do I think that we intervene in natural laws of things. (I’m a Christian for Heaven’s sake). So while I don’t think there is or ever has been a magic wand, I am inclined to know that peace comes after prayer.
And at the farm, we’ve prayed and for certain, we got peace.
And we have tomatoes
Remember when I told you about those seeds and seedlings I received mail order and all the hopes of fresh fruit from them? For a reminder, go here.
And take a look.
If you had to call one of those a Cherokee Purple, which would it be?
What about Grandmother Aiello’s heart shaped ones?
The tomatoes will be gone soon, their bottom leaves already drying out. Tomatoes can’t set in this Texas heat.
But other things can.
David visited on his way back west and we sat in the swing on the new barn porch and talked about organic gardening and healthy foods. The wind rustled up from the little lake and the barn porch kept us in the shade and some of the time we didn’t say much.
He’ll be back.
Almost as soon as he left, A showed up with Luca, Stella, and Sebastien, the oldest of them 7.
I had forgotten how good kid sweat smells.
When one or the other sat in my lap, their hair, thick and damp, rustled just under my chin.
A gave them avocados and cucumbers and they played in the sprinkler among my dwarf fruit trees. They had not idea that water came from way down deep in a aquifer that supplies all the gulf coast. They ewwwwwwww-ed the piles of cow poop that we ran over with the tractor. They ate tomatoes, little tiny yellow pear shaped ones right off the vines, that fit their palms, as late in their afternoon, we harvested and weeded.
And then they left.
Out at the farm, bathed in prayer, we are sweatily baptized in the love of Christ and the need to share.
Yep.
Out at the farm
You’re invited.
