Summer-A State of Mind

From the day it all began
Yeah, you were there, you took my hand
And when I hurt a bit too deep
You watched me as I fell asleep
And when my head was in the clouds
You found a way to pull me out
You picked my heart up off the ground
And it showed me love was all around
-Brandi Carlile
When Rich and I were farming on the tip of the thumb of Michigan, we met a contractor, Greg, who had been transplanted from Georgia. A southern boy his whole life, he was a fish out of water in our cold climate. Working in 40 degree weather in Late April, he was outfitted in cargo shorts and a t-shirt. His Michigander cohorts were giving him a hard time, when he said…’summertime…it’s a state of mind’ with that great thick southern ‘mahnd’. He legitimately didn’t seem to feel uncomfortable.
Good old Greg…I think he was onto something. Our frame of mind sets the day’s tone. With these wildly hot conditions we’ve had lately, I think of Greg’s ability to put himself somewhere else. Maybe that is how May and I seemed to feel a coastal breeze, that kind you only get when you’re right on the water’s edge, while we were picking wild black cap raspberries from the edge of the woods. I thought it was just me…when May broke our early morning peaceful quiet with, “it feels like Florida here in the woods”. What a mystical moment.
In these conditions, the Katahdin sheep stay close to the ice cold well water topped off by Rich during his morning rounds. The sheen of their incredible, slicked off summer coats glows brilliantly in the sunlight as that godsent breeze animates the tall pasture grasses behind them. The tomato, squash, cucumber and pepper plants reach toward the sky, stretching their limbs out to full capacity to capture all of that light energy that emanates from the summer sun. They are in their element, unlike the peas which are due to peter out with the height of the summer. ‘There is a season, turn turn turn’.
And the farmers? We are like the part-time farm dog, sweating, seeking shade, enjoying the mornings and the evenings and ducking into the farmhouse for water and a seat on the old leather couch to regain our composure midday. I have started to immerse my hands in the wash water as I prepare our harvest…letting my paradigm shift to that breezy shoreline that May and I found ourselves on while picking berries together. Because just as time seems to move at its own pace, I’m starting to realize that our minds can tap into that same dexterity. In times of discomfort, like a 95 degree, 70 percent humidity day, may you find your inner Greg.
SO MANY THANKS
This past Sunday was our last regular attendance at This Old Farmers Market In Beavercreek. That brings us down to our one weekly market in Oakwood and wholesale delivery day. I can’t begin to tell you how much this decision is going to impact us…largely in a positive way. As I’ve said to many of you individually, we will GREATLY miss the magic that happens on Sundays with the collection of vendors and market goers that gather. However, as we navigate this year, including a health issue behind the scenes, having a Sunday to gather ourselves in order to reboot for the next week means so much. We rest assured that we are on course to heal and to sustain ourselves for the long haul. And we look forward to times when we are operating at a fuller capacity. We’ve got years ahead of us and we look forward to all the opportunity that lies in wait.
A small family business like ours relies on these prudent decisions. And they thrive on community sustenance and love. Since sharing our decision with folks, we have been bolstered by the support and good energy of our Dayton (and beyond) people. Thank you. Thank you so much. Just like a plant stuck in the soil will grow, so will we. However, with a gardener’s dedication to the nuances of that plant’s needs, it will flourish. Thank you for being that gardener…Foxhole wouldn’t be flourishing without you.