Green Acres is the place to be.
Farm livin’ is the life for me.
Land spreadin’ out so far and wide
Keep Manhattan, just give me that countryside. —Green Acres theme
This past week, I remembered exactly what it is that I love about this place so very much: living outdoors, in so much as it is possible. I didn’t quite get my fill last summer, I feel. Life was a little less fluid with our friends staying here, and Christopher’s travel schedule in the fall combined with a variety of school obligations cut short the season of eating every meal al fresco and not coming in unless the thermometer threatened to push past 99.
But this spring is reminding me of all that.
Fresh lettuces are bursting out of the ground, and our new strawberry beds have produced a handful of berries. I still have another year to wait on my asparagus box, but seeing it come alive a bit this spring has made me that much more giddy with anticipation. Christopher, Mathaus, and Jack are planning on building picnic tables in the next few weeks. We’re waffling between one ten foot table or two six foot tables. While the ten would fit us fine, we host often—especially in the warmer months— so added seats wouldn’t go amiss.
It’s also felt so, so good to have every member of the family engaging in meaningful, physical work. I’ve said it a million times, but I’ll say it again: my kids really aren’t the biggest fans of toys. They are do-ers, and nothing satisfies the urge to do like having a job you can throw yourself into and complete through your own labor. Waking this place up from its winter slumber has provided plenty of opportunity for digging, hauling, trimming, washing, and every other kind of work you can imagine.
And finally… abiding in the sweet sunshine? A bunny (or a book) on your lap as you watch the sun move through the sky? Time to plan Sunflower House 2.0? A warm spot to work on that newsletter, grade that homework, finish that reading assignment, study for that exam? Yes, please.
Floating Axe Farm is waking up… and we are, too. Waking up to the beauty of following a blue tailed skink up the trunk of our looming old elm, or feeling the water splash over our ankles in the creek. We’re rested, and we’re ready.