If I could place in your hands one dozen blue and brown eggs, you could crack them and admire their orange-gold yolks and taste the farm. If I could offer you crisp sweet peas or deep-flavored tomatoes, you could feast without even cooking. Since I cannot, from a distance, make you laugh with your armsful of a crooning blonde chicken named Buffy Bon Foo, I have collected these photos and stories.
Words follow me around the farm, louder than the chickens sometimes. I watch the light change across the fields and garden, in all of the seasons. I am like our dog, Skip, cradling an egg in her mouth. These entries are where I hold the words and images. These are my letters to my kids, to ourselves, and to you.
Thanks for joining us in the dig and flow of life here.