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Every Cubic Inch of Space

Why, who makes much of miracles? As to me, I know nothing else but miracles… To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle Every cubic inch of space is a miracle, Every square yard of the...

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A Kindly and Homely Month

There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings, as now in October. The sunshine is peculiarly genial; and in sheltered...

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Shine Through

Let the light of late afternoon shine through chinks in the barn, moving up the bales as the sun moves down. ~Jane Kenyon, “Let Evening Come“  

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Torn By Twine

My hands are torn by baling twine, not nails, and my side is pierced by my ulcer, not a lance. ~Hayden Carruth from “Emergency Haying” Miles of twine encircle tons of hay in our barn, daily loosed...

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Farm Rhythms and Seasons

photo by Lea Gibson When I pull open the barn doors, every morning and each evening, as my grandfathers did one hundred years ago, seven rumbling voices rise in greeting. We exchange scents, nuzzle...

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Imperishable Bliss

But in contentment I still feel The need of some imperishable bliss. ~Wallace Stevens from “Sunday Morning” Earthly contentment~ whether a full stomach or adequate bank account or a covering of snow~...

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A Light in the Barn

    The floor was mouse-grey, smooth, chilly concrete. There were no windows, just two narrow shafts Of gilded motes, crossing, from air-holes slit High in each gable. The one door meant no draughts...

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Fade Into Glooms

I love at eventide to walk alone Down narrow lanes o’erhung with dewy thorn… Right glad to meet the evening’s dewy veil And see the light fade into glooms around. ~John Clare from “Summer Moods”  

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And I Knew…

photo by Josh Scholten Blue poured into summer blue, A hawk broke from his cloudless tower, The roof of the silo blazed, and I knew That part of my life was over.   Already the iron door of the north...

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So Much Alike

It rained all weekend, but today the peaked roofs are as dusty and warm as the backs of old donkeys tied in the sun. So much alike are our houses, our lives. Under every eave— leaf, cobweb, and...

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Every Every Minute

Happy Thanksgiving from our farm to yours…. We all know that something is eternal. And it ain’t houses and it ain’t names, and it ain’t earth, and it ain’t even the stars . . . everybody knows in...

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Lonely Light

our first snowfall of the season just started Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations. Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies like a snowflake falling on water. Below us, some farmer, feeling the...

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Celebrating His Arrival: From Gloom to Hope

  Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock. “Now they are all on their knees,” An elder said as we sat in a flock By the embers in hearthside ease. We pictured the meek mild creatures where They dwelt...

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Prepare for Joy: Blown Away

It has been a relatively warm wet week in the northwest, so it seemed reasonable after finishing up farm chores last night to leave the large rolling north-south doors wide open in the barn where the...

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A Case of the Dwindles

“Morning without you is a dwindled dawn.” Emily Dickinson I’m finally adjusted to our children being grown and away from home: I no longer instinctively grab too many plates and utensils when setting...

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A Message to the Future

And this is where we went, I thought, Now here, now there, upon the grass Some forty years ago. The days being short now, simply I had come To gaze and look and stare upon The thought of that once...

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A Fence Post

  If you stand here you can see the barn. You can see it from every point on these two hundred acres, but this spot is the closest. Here’s a fence post–use your imagination– that used to be a corner...

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Happy Hills of Hay

  Through all the pleasant meadow-side The grass grew shoulder-high, Till the shining scythes went far and wide And cut it down to dry. Those green and sweetly smelling crops They led the waggons...

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Farmers for an Evening

Every hay crew is the same though the names change; young men flexing their muscles, a seasoned farmer defying his age tossing four bales high, determined girls bucking up on the wagon, young children...

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Tangled Threads

Slowly the west reaches for clothes of new colors which it passes to a row of ancient trees. You look, and soon these two worlds both leave you one part climbs toward heaven, one sinks to earth....

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