THE CREEK.
One of the very first things I did on my first visit to Bugtussle Farm was to take a walk with the family to the creek. I was surprised when we reached our destination - what looked to me more like a lake or a river. But it was a creek. The Creek, as it is known to me now.The Creek has become a salvation to me. It is our swimming hole, our bathtub, a place where we come to be, as Eric calls it, "born again." There is truly nothing better after a long day of working in the sun, 95 degrees and sweating and dirty and itchy, than plunging into The Creek. You truly feel reborn, renewed. It is sometimes the only thing that can motivate me to finish a very difficult summer project - the hope of The Creek. The symbolism of a baptism makes a new kind of sense to me now.We never take it for granted - the Smith family is down at the water at least once a day, swimming or bathing or cooking over a campfire or fishing. It is one of the best parts of summer around here - right up there with tomatoes and eggplant and melons.- Hannah.
THIS & THAT.
Some random photos from the past week.
Snakeskin found in the orchard garden.
Staking and caging hundreds of tomatoes on a hot day....not exactly a fun project.
Happy little lamb.
Grilling soda cheese quesadillas and elephant garlic scapes.
The farm smells overwhelmingly of honeysuckle these days.
WENDELL WEDNESDAY.
We are trying to teach Wendell not to follow the truck every time we leave the farm. He LOVES running alongside the truck as we drive back and forth between our house and the Smiths. He is definitely getting better, and seems to have formed some sort of attachment to protecting the house and the chickens. But he still gets a very sad face when we have to leave him behind. Poor pup!
WHERE WE LIVE.
According to our mailing address, we live in Gamaliel, Kentucky - pronounced by the locals as "GUH-MAY-YUH." But we are not technically within the city limits - we are on the far outskirts of town, in a little community known as Bugtussle. There are several of these old, not-on-the-map communities around, places like Frog Pond or Pumpkin Town.And I love them. I love the bizarre names, the stomach-turning windy roads, the little roadside barbeque stands. I love the old couples in rocking chairs on front porches, the wealth of little churches and crumbling cemeteries, the chickens scratching along the side of the roads. When we are driving back home from "the big city," you can feel the shift as you enter into this remote area. There comes a moment, the farther out of town you get, where every passing driver will wave - with the lifting of a finger or tilt of the hand. It is a sort of solidarity - a knowing nod that connects you with all others who would dare be this far out of civilization. Sometimes we forget, and try to wave as we drive though Gallatin, or Bowling Green, or Nashville, but the connection is gone. And this, more than anything, is what I love the most about where we live. The little wave, the acceptance, the sign that we are on our way home.- Hannah.