Today was beautiful. I harvested fresh tomatoes and melons. We had a fresh farm lunch. I have a fresh academic year ahead. Margaret walkie-talkied from wherever she was weeding to say that the pollen-pods blowing off a nearby tree looked like a thousand tiny helicopters ( Read more... )

I should really buckle down and enjoy my last few days in beautiful, agrarian Maine, with its sunlight hours growing shorter and its blueberry rash a-spreading, before they slip into yesterness. But first I have to stop feeling so unloved and unlovable. Cue violins.

Today has been the most rewardingly grueling day.

Up at the mostly arbitrary time of 5:41 and off to chores, where the cow kicked over the bucket and the chickens shat on my boots. After breakfast I played some touchy-feely folk music for the usual sunday service held on the Neck, then fell into a drooling slumber in the grass on the quad.

We got ( Read more... )

Today the weather went from sweltering to thunderstorming. A lot of nice things happened today, among them harvesting, swimming, playing music, and a potluck with some organic small-farm apprentices, but, having decided upon waking that today was going to be a terrible day and having resigned myself to that notion well before noon, I was not swayed ( Read more... )

My weekend in terms of songs by The Softies

• 
  Splintered Hands- I got lots of tiny cuts from harvesting squash and cucumbers.
• 
  Tracks and Tunnels- Roisin (pronounced ro-sheen) showed up via bus from Boston.
• 
  Hello Rain- It stormed all night and we talked by the garden shed and hung our clothes up to dry.
• 
  ( Read more... )

I am back in Maine and I am happy! I love my farm crew. I love harvesting. I love drinking lemonade on the porch with my fellow workers after a twelve hour day. I love feeling bone-tired and muscle-sore and accomplished ( Read more... )

An intergral element of my life at present, and probably the reason why I can't seem to stay settled, is the never-ending quest to figure out what I like, and consequently how I should conduct my mighty little life ( Read more... )

I have an inappropriate habit of hurtling my romantic feelings over really tall hierarchical fences. I'm a poor navigator of theoretical boundaries, I guess.

There has been one unambiguous motif to my reactions to everything that's happening around me, and that is an overbearingly cliche cocktail of fear and excitement about personal responsibility and pending adulthood ( Read more... )

Stayed up all night with my co-workers and caught breakfast for probably the only time all session. Walked around the pond into the early morning, played scrabble in the Student Union, made a boat out of furniture, asked each other, "What's the most romantic thing that's ever happened to you ( Read more... )