The Why

The Why

I'm thinking about questions.  How I think of them, how I ask them, how I answer them for others, how I receive answers from others.  After eating my lunch, I strolled around the orchard for a few minutes instead of diving straight back into work.  Yesterday, driving the tractor slowly back and forth across the edge of the first field, I had noticed that the large plum trees hovering over me were nearly bare of fruit.  It stuck in my memory.  I was refreshed from eating and lying down a minute, my mind was at ease with my goals for the rest of the day, and I gave myself time to investigate. 

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What the trees think of us

I like to wonder what the trees think of us.  They stand through frosts and heat waves, catching the first light of morning and the last reflected rays of evening, day after day after day.  Many of them were planted when I was still a kid, oblivious to their existence and instead picking little Italian plums from my front yard in the summer.  Even the youngest trees in the orchard have known the farm longer than I have.  They came from various nurseries, grafted by nimble hands to make whole two disjointed halves.  Since they were planted, they have known only one spot on this planet.  They've watched the world go by.

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How It Is

How It Is

I finally, finally spent a few minutes taking photos on the farm today. The rhubarb is alive again, popping forth crinkled leaves from buxom pink buds on the soil surface.  The biggest leaves are the size of my palm, and I find myself wondering how many 2-inch stalks it would take to make a rhubarb pie.  But no, it deserves to grow.

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