successful grafting

I am one of these babies

I am one of these babies

I was not born here, but I was raised here. My parents transplanted, or maybe the better word is ‘grafted’ on here in the mid 70’s. I was about two months old when they parked the Airstream trailer back in the hollow and set up camp. I grew up in the country, going to the public schools in these small rural towns. My folks instilled in me a deep love of this place.  In this place, around here, we have lots of natural beauty and lots of really nice people who all know each other for five generations back. I never lacked friends, but I never completely fit in either. Like a well-grafted fruit tree, I thrived, but was made to bear different fruit than my rootstock. Upon entering adolescence I began to get the feeling that I was going to make my own kinships, but maybe somewhere else. So I went away.

That’s when they began to arrive, and when I stopped in to home between longer excursions, I met my friends, right here where I had always wanted them.
I can’t begin to talk about knowing Cher without talking about Eric. I was 19 when we met. I knew he was a true friend without a doubt, from the beginning. I was away at college, and traveling, never staying anywhere for very long, but not having very much direction to my movements. Eric and I kept in touch. And he stayed right here. I could tell it wasn’t easy for him. His commitment to this place was so steadfast and real; he could not deny that calling, so even when it wasn’t comfortable, he stayed.
He was right. Cher came to him. I heard about her before I met her. He was so confident in the goodness of their connection,and for good reason. Cher and Eric fit together like roots and soil. She’s grounded, but not dull; smart but not cynical; strong, not hard; sweet without being silly. Eric met and married his best friend, and brought me one of mine at the same time.
Eric and Cher’s wedding happened right after I got back from a longish trip to Indonesia. I met Robin (and Paul and Sasha, toddling at the time) nearly a year later, just before leaving for Tibet.
We were all tooling around Long Hungry Creek Farm. I had heard that my first farmer friends and mentors had new interns the year after I had worked with them. They had since moved on and were back for a visit. We had heard of each other, and we expressed our mutual curiosity and enjoyed a walk and chat. They had been to Indonesia, too (bagaimana!) and done quite a lot of traveling. Again, I sensed the kinship.
They were further along the path than I, by a long shot. They had a farm AND a baby. I was so intrigued. What did it look like to live this life that I’d always aimed toward? They were wonderfully tolerant of my youth and singularity. I visited whenever I found myself local, practiced yoga in their barn loft, and wandered around the gardens with Sasha.
One day the little boy and I went to pick strawberries. The patch was weedy and I was trying to clean it a little, but found myself involved in a continuous stream of distractions and conversation with Sasha. Finally, we picked a few flowers and I sent him back to the kitchen to take them to Robin. I can still see his little blond head bobbing through the flowers in the sun. Later that day, I asked Robin how they got anything done with a baby in tow. She said “You just have to think that raising them is just as important as anything else that happens here.” Something inside of me clicked. A voice in my soul said “Pay attention. This is the truth.”
It took me a few more years to find my husband and make our own place, but I’m here, with these friends, nice long kinships by now, all these beautiful children we tend, and the land and lives that we love. Through babies, long hot work days and cold winter nights, with empathy and sympathy for one another’s course through life and time, our friendships continue to knit together, looser and tighter at times, but connected always in the love of the land and the life that we make on it. We are grafting a strong orchard of beautiful fruit as we experiment with our culture and our dreams and our lives. We hope you will enjoy the harvest, too.growing children

8 thoughts on “successful grafting

  1. I love you, and your story…Though I believe you are much younger, I so look up to you and your wisdom. Peace and love to you ,Paul, a d the kids!

    • you to adrienne – i wish we could come over to your next event but i think we won’t be able to make it this time. looking forward to sharing more of the journey with you – you are definitely a radical farmwife too!

    • I’ve thought about it more and I’m remembering you in a warm winter coat, hmmm…, must have been Dec. 93 or Jan. 94 but same place and show.

      • it was january – it was a cold winter – i remember walking the iced over creeks in celina. i remember those dances too. you with your dreds. oh my.

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