It's not a perfect metaphor.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Down the rabbit hole.

Where was I? I was a week ago, I was unhappy, I was in this exact place. And yet I'm somewhere new, too.

The farm I am on is a wonderland and I am learning to acknowledge that. To describe what I can, briefly; there is a big house with many rooms and secrets and books. As with most good households, the kitchen is large and the centre of all action. We live there but we sleep somewhere else. There is a large outdoor eating area with picnic tables and chairs on a deck covered in kittens and people's belongings set down sometime, maybe after work or before breakfast on the way into the house, that may never be collected now. The main field is large and colourful (though most of those colours are, thankfully, shades of green) and there are archways or walls of vines breaking up what might otherwise be an endless monotony of rows and paths. There are hoofed animals in paddocks and there is an old greenhouse that has been re-designed as an aviary housing chickens, turkeys, peacocks, rabbits... There is a trampoline and a pool; these seem simultaneously seldom and oft used considering the fluctuation of both the farm's weather and population. All of these things surround the original house, but if you follow the road down the property a little way you can see more.

One of the inhabitants of the farm stays in a tipi which you will see by the forest. It is beautiful and its owner will let you look inside if you ask, which you really should. Nearby is one of the trailers where workers can stay and if you walk past that, into the trees, you will find another trailer and a couple of tents. The people who sleep in the woods do so by choice; they say the sound of the leaves and the breeze in the morning is rewarding and sleeping on Nature's floor allows a more peaceful slumber. But back on the road; there is an old barn that has been converted into a grand looking house and beside that, one last trailer. I sleep here, in the front room, with the windows open and a curtain for a door. My room was once a kitchen so I have many cupboards and a sink that doesn't work. I have only one roommate right now, in the room next to our bathroom. She is quiet and kind and I enjoy her company. Behind this trailer are two small wooden houses, single rooms in themselves, and these are the last dwellings on the property. Many people bike out to their bedrooms and back to the house to save time but I walk. Especially in the morning, I think it is something to be savoured. Dotted near the road are several other growing patches, and behind the converted barn are four or five greenhouses, in addition to many fruit trees. The sun in the sky during many mornings is already bright and hot by 6am, when I am walking. I watch the dew on the grass, knowing it will gone by only a couple of hours into work time, as will any memory I have of it being cool.

I did not want to like where I am at first. I don't know why that was. I have been shown kindness by the farm though; the field gives me satisfaction, the people give me many different kinds of gifts. The kitchen is always full of food and friends, the day is full of purpose. There is a woman here with her daughter who is very wise and kind and took us to a nearby Conservation area one day after work. We swam in the lake and sat on the grass and I felt warm all the time. Yesterday, the first day of our weekend off, she took us and another worker on a day trip. We book shopped and wandered a market and discovered another lake. On Friday night my roommate and I experienced our first art crawl together in the local town and got our fill of store-bought treats for the first time in a week. And now it is Sunday morning and already I have been taught how to make bread, good bread, by my hostess and the very same wise mother who has given me so much already.

I can't describe everything I wish to and that frustrates me more than I can say sometimes. But here I am, trying to show you with words what I have difficulty seeing with my eyes. My life here, right now, is good. Even I can feel that. I hope one day I can be more articulate about everything I experience. Clarity is what I desire, in life as well as my description of it.

That's not so unusual, is it?


  1. This is most definitely not unusual. I think we all crave that desire to express ourselves clearly, and let me tell you Hannah love, whilst you're still craving for that desire to articulate, you're still doing a far better job than some, if not most, of us. I can quite clearly see what you're describing to me, possibly because I can just imagine you here, on my couch in this slightly cold house, getting all puffy from my cats gesturing wildly and smiling as you explain it all.

    This all sounds amazing, and you're doing a fantastic job of making us all, and especially me, jealous of your time.
    Where you're staying sounds amazing and quite beautiful, and makes me feel like I need to go out and buy myself a farm, or acre of land in the bush somewhere and house some interested travellers.


  2. This is...lovely, articulate, thoughtful, inspiring, more than words, sweet, and makes me wish I could dexcribe I could describe my world in such a clear, thought provoking way.

    I love you. and it sounds like you've gotten out of whatever funk it was you were in.
    I miss you, and hope to hear from you soon. Tam.

  3. This sounds totally amazing. I'm currently reading "Walden" by Thoreau and you seem to be tapping into his tone. Profound yet restrained and comfortable with itself. I wish I was there.

    peace, cheers and smiles, Dan



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