Spider on my Chest

Days are simply full of activity. There are not enough hours. And yet, there are still phone calls that need to be made between 8:00 and 5:00, doctor’s visits, appointments, sickness, packages to be mailed at the post office that is only open between 8:00 & 5:00.

The heat and lack of rain is wreaking havoc on many plants. Broccoli continues to bolt, squash plants and cucumbers are shriveling into crispy resembles of what they once were, it’s slow going with the tomato plants and the lettuce plants are trying to hold their own in 80 and 90 degree temperatures.

Today we harvested three varieties of beets in lovely shads of red, pink and yellow. The first two hours of the morning were spent picking and picking and picking tomatoes in the greenhouse. Bins and bins of pink, green, yellow, orange, striped, and even some nearly three-pound heirlooms. (I know. We weighed them.)

During the last hour of the day, Chris and I picked 144 bunches of cilantro. It smells heavenly in the herbs rows; basil, dill, cilantro. Somewhere in-between bunch number 78 and 79 I felt a tickle on my chest, when I looked down and saw a spider. There was a granddaddy longlegs crawling between my sports bra uniboob. No lie. I grabbed him with my t-shirt and squished him pretty good, leaving one leg twitching on my chest. Turning the top of my shirt inside out, I tossed the rest of him on the ground. This is me now.

Then the eggplants attacked me. Thorns, scratches, blood- but I still got the eggplant. So, I win right? Just another day at the office.

Dirt and bugs and spiders and whole milk and mashed potatoes and eating the egg yolks and fresh cheese and glasses of wine were not normal parts of each day prior to living on the farm. Neither were stillness and quietness and reading my Bible daily and taking time to write and sitting in the shade watching geese and seeing the sunset and sleeping with all the windows open and hearing nothing but crickets and bullfrogs. I’ve changed. I’m different and I wonder what will remain in three months from now when this time is over. What will stay in me from the days on the farm? Too much or not enough?