Could I Live On A Farm With Friends?

Imagining what it would be like to live a new story.

I gather the first moments of the day through an uncovered bedroom window. The field sits in the foreground, full of plants that I never thought I’d understand, and a stand of trees paints upwards along the horizon. A blue pickup turns towards the road, exhaust floating over the corn stalks that frame the driveway. Half the shed lights are on and I can see someone rummaging for tools or a load of wood. The studio lights are on across the yard.

I slide out of bed, ease open the door, and walk to the kitchen. I fill the kettle and set it to boil. I move gently, knowing that it’s a day away from the fields. I sit at the kitchen table and pull at the corner of a magazine until I make a casual show of flipping to a short poem to occupy the time while the water heats. I read it like its the back of a cereal box.

There are boots at the front door and practical clothes on the hooks. They make me feel competent.

There’s a yard between four or five buildings, with places for cooking, talking, and playing. The vehicles are tucked away, waiting for whoever needs one next. Some of us might be biologically related, but that’s not the point exactly; we love being here together. There are kids around. We’re all parents, but not all of us have kids. We farm or garden or…