FARM REPORT

Farm workers traveled this week to stay at Mabel's House. We stepped inside of history. Bathed in it, slept in it, and it inspired us. In a steamy hot bath scented with lavender we looked to the left and saw what the hands of man could never hope to create. Surrounded by the color and words of D H Lawrence painted and written to soothe the soul of this woman who lived a life dedicated to filling the world with beauty,drama and inspiration.

As a writer I begged to soak long enough to be worthy of being in her space. I sat in the drawing room and felt the intense conversations of parties long ended but forever suspended in soft yellow light. Serenaded by a city of long tailed birds.

Artists still come to sit in magnificent sturdy chairs at tables piled high with hot scones and eggs with black beans chilies and cheese. They meet, they talk, and they find love. They laugh and live as their passion decrees. It is as she would have loved it to be.
Writers still filling their pages with words written on black sticky courier typewriters in the little rooms downstairs. Photographers cannot resist stopping to unload their bags of lenses.
There is magic in this place. Magic that crosses the centuries, spreads out over a huge meadow and drapes itself over the mountains where you can see the wind. It speaks to me, calls me and wraps its clear blue sky around me like a long lost lover returned to claim me. Farm workers have left a piece of themselves in the cave of an ancient woman grinding corn on a stone. Their hot pink toes were painted with flowers and appreciated as small works of art.

Farm Report

Days on farm have been sad and stressful lately. There was a fire on a neighboring farm.
A horrible accident, our workers could only stand and watch as neighbors, we cherish so much, were lost in the flames. There is no way for us to know whether they suffered or were lost by the force of the explosion. Things on our place have been dragging ever since news of the tragedy reached us. Production has been affected by sadness. Work songs we usually sing have been replaced by sleepless nights punctuated with sounds of burning wood and dreams the orange hue of hot flames.
One of our best workers was hit with news of illness in the family. We gathered around to give our support and love in the only way that we know how. We stayed up late and did each others feet. We polished, painted, rubbed and scrubbed until we all felt better. Workers fell asleep in exhausted heaps and woke the next morning feeling somewhat relieved. Happy to be able to look down at toes painted Most Honorable Red.
We have not been fazed by news stories of monkeys being murdered on street corners. Monkeys on display in book store windows, and monkeys who say that Our President should fail. At the monthly meeting of farm managers the conversation was filled with excitement. Our President was going to speak. We listened and nodded our heads at the words of encouragement that we heard, and smiled at a cute little girl who promised she would never quit. As we continue about our business, squeezing as many feet as possible into our days, biking to visit our neighbors and taking classes to elevate our minds, we are confident. We are so glad that he had time to grab a cold one, kick back and watch the game; have a lovely dinner, be rested relaxed and restored.