“Some people look forward to weekends.  Can you imagine that?  I feel sorry for them.  Why, every day is my weekend.  Gosh, I wish I could start all over…Commitment!  Soul commitment, that’s what farming is.  I can’t remember taking a vacation ever!”

I’m tucked away in the top corner of a bookstore in rural Vermont, reading the words spoken by Gert Lepine, Jersey farmer and vermont legend from back in 1990.  

Downstairs, two women talk at the register.  The customer is preparing to leave for a tour of Europe with her husband.  The shop owner is going to Avignon tomorrow.

And I am someplace in between.

Ula and I have stolen away to Vermont for two nights,  We’ve tossed aside our devices, and our agenda consists of repeat visits to a swimming hole, listening to crickets, perfecting our quiches and galettes, and immersing ourselves for hours in this bookshop.

There was a time when our family packed up and traveled to France, to South America, to Alaska. There was a time when Bob and I used every spare penny we had for plane fare.

“We don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to do this,” we told ourselves.  Saoirse and Ula traveled along with us as we hiked and cooked our way around the world.  We were like chained dogs off-leash, seizing every opportunity to romp until the dog warden captured us.

And it often made me wonder if we didn’t really want this life — This world tied to soil and family.  Was this blind obedience to the instructions of our elders, without honoring our own need to be free?

But slowly we all grew more deeply into the family business.  We changed things, took on more leadership, made it our own.

In our minds, we never stopped traveling.

But I can’t remember the last time we climbed aboard an airplane.  

Yet here I am with Ula, slipping away for 48 hours.  

I wish I could share Gert Lepine’s sentiments.  

I don’t.

France isn’t an option right now, but I need to walk away from my life.  I need this time with my daughter, away from the noise of every day to listen to her thoughts, to cuddle her without interruption, to laugh at her jokes, to conduct a study of local ice cream flavors, to look at life back home from a little distance.

In quiet moments, I stare out at the Vermont mountains so hard, I stare right through them to our life back here.

And I see adventures.  

I see Saoirse, her body grown strong and powerful, lifting boxes, hauling buckets, bursting with song the entire time, passionate in her discussions about what makes things delicious, then dancing off to play rehearsals.  

I see Corey, displaced by the pandemic, finally finishing his high school diploma and racing to get ready for college.  He lifts his head in surprise one Saturday in the cafe as the customers erupt with applause at his acceptance at SUNY Cobleskill.   He smiles for the rest of the day.

I see Ula, leading Xote around the farm and introducing him to his first saddle, making better croissants than my own, learning to make drinks on the espresso machine.

I see the delight on Mom’s face when her friend Becky moves back home from California, and when her friend Laurie comes into the cafe at lunch with a stack of books to share.  

I see Dad lighting up as we talk about changes in farm sales and feed demands, or jumping to fry me an egg when I show up in his kitchen, hungry for sustenance and talk.

I see Jenn and Nate exploring with Journey, giving an outlet to her Golden Retriever craziness while they crawl across the land to discover the treasures of chanterelles and Ginseng.  

I see Dusky, my littlest dog, waiting for me to come home so she can stretch across my lap; Kit with her frisbee in her mouth ready for a round of fetch; and Nikki, bouncing at the door, his tired old feet dancing and defying gravity when he notices me.  

And I see Bob.  Madly cleaning the house while I am gone, ignoring everything farm-related to wipe away the dust of tired days, to catch up with the dishes and the laundry, to vacuum up the detritus of harried summer living so that when Ula and I find our way back to our spot on the mountain, home is ready for us.

I don’t want to choose between Avignon or endless days on the farm, between here and there.  I just want to find the most scenic route through life, then savor each moment.

 

This podcast happens with the support of my patrons on Patreon.  And this week I’d like to send a shout out to my patrons Mark Sisson & Mar Boulette.

Thank you, folks!  I couldn’t do it without you!  If you’d like to help support my work, you can do so for as little as $1/month by hopping over to Patreon and looking up Shannon Hayes.