There’s something slightly sadistic about August. It’s a month that seems intent on punishing me for procrastinations and prideful declarations. August wags its hot, sticky finger in my face reminding me of February and March when I swore the heat and humidity was exactly what I needed to thrive.
August is nothing if it ain’t one long slog but in the middle of the muck a special treat arrived. My parents drove in from Oklahoma to visit the farm. Okay, they actually came east to visit me and my other sisters and their grandchildren but we know the truth ~ they had to get their farm on!
My dad barely sat down at the dining room table before he found his straw hat hanging on the side porch. Out of his golf shirt and into his Dug In farm gear, he was on the tractor in minutes. ‘Except for a tee time I’ve never seen him move that fast,’ my mom said.
In no time she fell into farm chores as well, washing eggs and buckets, picking up chicken scraps at the Car Wash Café and cooking a batch of apple-pear sauce from last week’s leftovers.
In a month of oppressive heat and farm chores it’s hard to scratch out much gratitude but I realize, as my folks move into their 80s, that farming has brought us closer than ever.
We talk most Wednesdays as I drive around the Northern Neck gathering produce from other local farmers. They love to hear about the stand, my customers, the chickens, volunteers and, of course, Doug. My dad wants to know if there is any plowing or tilling to be done, my mom loves to hear about all the people I’m meeting. And, when the news paints the world as scary and overwhelming, they are always reassured that there is still a little spot in our country where a person can put out some veggies and an honor box and people come, build a community and act honorably together.
Thank you to mom and dad (aka Sid and Janice) for always having my back and to you for supporting this incredible journey. And, as always, thanks for stopping by.