Blog #2: Bikes & Farms

On clouded days in haze in daze

Humidity penetrates fluently

“It all began with ice erosion flame,”

says Emily Turner.

“Rocks are the earth’s skeleton, mountains are its skin, and humans are the cosmetics.”

And so we tread earth’s flesh of dread on double-wheeled machines,

The breeze that brushes Connecticut River blows us swiftly in between.

The miles pass, sun doesn’t last, the mountain state of green,

Though tires pop, we cannot stop until we reach Harlow Farm.

With beefalos we sleep and insect fleets but first the man named Paul,

Will tell the stories of his farm organic certification and all.

1000 meat birds and hundreds of acres,

Jamaicans harvesting beets and tomatoes.

Grossing nearly two million a year,

Organic was not always seen as sincere.

There is sweet corn and eggplants galore,

The size of the place means there are lots to explore.

In times like these people must be fed,

Regardless the amount of love it can get. 

Now hills begin to slope and lift,

And sweat remains on face and lip.

Soon we reach one of twelve tribes,

Basin they call themselves, faith leads their lives,

A community where no one leaves,

And everyone lives for another it seems.

Codes for living and dances in circles,

Songs of their savior and welcoming smiles.

No change we can make since the fall of man more,

“is this empty vein life what I was created for?”

Barefoot in their gardens fair, squash does fill the field,

As long as they are happy in community they are free.

“Self love is a paradox…

“Love is like a gun, you can only point it in one direction.”

~Lemuel, an elder of Basin

Their mate is the sweetest gem,

They will not let us do dishes for them.

And as we part we realize,

How lucky we are to be born with individuality and freedom in our lives.

So begins an epic adventure much longer than we planned.

Over the mountain, through the rain, terrain of rock and sand.

Instead of left on Heller Rd,

Biked up hills of doom with loads,

Only to loop around back to Heller,

Mike, Jesse, and Tashi wait patiently with well-earned dinner.

The night is such a festive one,

Singing and strumming guitars with our thumbs.

Couches are foreign as goose-cherry pie,

But cuddles we welcome with chocolate chip cookies and milk, oh my!

God, the night is the holder of casualties,

Restlessness, sick, and encounters with trees,

And so upon waking semester decides,

That we will make tinctures and stay one more night.

Michael shows plans for seaworthy vessels,

And then we all sleep like boulders and pebbles.

But early to rise at 5 o’clock sharp,

Peanut butter jelly wraps, taking down tarps.

Instead of semester’s guide masterful Dan,

Mayah leads us and our bikes to Fairwinds.

Breakfast of oatmeal, yogurt, and tea,

Horse powered hay lifting at warp speed. 

Harvesting squashes and pumpkins and such,

While Jamie and Emily prepare the lunch.

Now we travel to Brattleboro,

To watch and enjoy a festival.

Paper and cardboard political messages,

Bread and aioli with bits of violence.

U.S. made bombs dropping in clusters,

In Yemen they say with body part dancers.

After brief surrealist pageant Bread and Puppet,

We head on to Hobbit land faster than rockets.

Though vigor is grand with apple filled stomachs,

We bike till the sun dies over mountainous buttocks.

Literally. Directly. Up.

And as we wake and hit the road,

Like rabbits run from foxy wolves.

And as we arrive we realize,

It feels like home more than time flies.

Heading out!

Lydia and Mayah doing bike maintenance

Bathing in the Connecticut River

Lydia preparing lunch with the Earth's bounty

Spunhungen cooking dinner

Declan feeding the fire

Learning from Michael's handmade bows

Fairwinds Farm

Jacob and Emily in the hayloft 

Pumpkin Harvest!

Bread and Puppet

Returning home to Kroka