Moon In The Pond: Let's Begin

“An old man took his grandson outside to show him the stars. The child wanted to see the moon. The old man extended his left arm towards the sky. The boy said that he still did not see the moon. The old man responded, ‘I can only point at the moon. Stop looking at my finger and gaze into the sky.’”

I moved to a farm yesterday. And as Dom drove down the single lane gravel road, the earthy smell of humid cow manure weaved through the windows. Looking through the mist in the trees, I couldn’t see much of my surroundings.

I’ve been living a lot of memories lately. It has something to do with this time of year, a sudden departure of normalcy, and an amazing expanse of options. I’ve been reading old emails, opening up old documents, and trawling through old notebooks. It’s good to remember the moments we forget, and we forget so much. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but it’s a relaxing search. I’ve spent the summer in mini-bouts of flux, often not sure of what my plan is, or when I would have a plan. I still don’t have a plan, but timing and circumstances have left open a natural next step, and I’ve taken it.

So, I’ve left New York City, and my small sublet in Brooklyn, and I’ve hired myself out as a farmhand, here at Moon in the Pond Farm in southwest, Massachusetts. I’ve been here before, but this time I’m not sure when I’ll be leaving.

I'm not sure I’m on the precipice of any great adventure. I’m here to work hard, and learn everything I can. But there’s an excitement in the creaking of this wooden farmhouse, and all the uncertainty I’ve been living with is now reduced into concretized tasks and tangible results. I know when I’m done weeding vegetables. I know when the cows’ fence needs repairing. The geese let me know when they haven’t been fed.

So, I’ll be here. And I’ll try to update this blog as I can. And maybe if the haze clears up, I can see the moon.