Putting community at the center
Every day, when I step out onto the farm, I feel the most connected I’ve ever been. Early on, when development began to surround the farm, it felt like doors were closing. I was moving away from my roots and from the things that anchored me here. It felt, increasingly, like we were an island surrounded by a sea of people who couldn’t understand.
There was fear in it: of the future, of what that future might look like, of the people who would inhabit it. I couldn’t see where the farm would take me yet. Like is most often the case with futures, I couldn’t have imagined the one I got.
Sure, the farm gave up some things. We’re right in the middle of an urban area now, surrounded on all sides by roads and houses. I can’t see the mountains as well, and everything feels more crowded. But as the door to a rural space closed, another one opened: the door to a deep, connected community.
I’ve never loved the farm more than I do today. I’ve never loved the people more, or the land itself. I’ve never felt more at peace, or a greater part of something. I feel those things because the farm is an island - the kind where people wash up after years lost at sea, grateful to feel the earth beneath their feet. We open our doors and open this land because it needs doing. We need that line to the spirit of the earth. In exchange for the farm becoming part of the neighborhood, the neighborhood has become part of the farm. We’re here because you’re here. And we’ll stay because you stay, because everyone has a right to the peace, inspiration, and happiness that a farm brings.
I hold that space for you. I hold it for your children and grandchildren. Together we hold it for our whole community, which is, in the end, made up of people like you and me. Our hopes, our fears, our dreams, our connections to one another are all forging a path into a future we can’t quite anticipate, but can greet every morning with joy.