July 30th, 2019
What’s in your share?
Heirloom Tomatoes
Italian/Japanese Eggplant
Cucumbers
Bunching Onions
Baltic Red Kale
Shishito Peppers
Summer Squash
Green Beans
Radishes
Parsley
This is a poem by a farm elder whom we hold in highest regard (aside from his patriarchal language.)
“Always, on their generation’s breaking wave,
men think to be immortal in the world,
as though to leap from water and stand
in air were simple for a man. But the farmer
knows no work or act of his can keep him
here. He remains in what he serves
by vanishing in it, becoming what he never was.
He will not be immortal in words.
All his sentences serve an art of the commonplace,
…to take him in. His words all turn
to to leaves, answering the sun with mute
quick reflections. Leaving their seed, his hands
have had a million graves, from which wonders
rose, bearing him no likeness. At summer’s
height his is surrounded by green, his
doing, standing for him, awake and orderly.
In autumn, all his monuments fall.
-Wendell Berry