Dear Farm Journal,

Both the heat and my unidentified illness have lifted and I am anxious to get outside, but not before a proper Saturday farm breakfast. Rufus picks our first red potatoes along with some eggs, garlic and onion and starts chopping and frying. I whip up a waffle batter and toss in some fresh blueberries, and top them with strawberries, but the potatoes were the star of the show this morning. A store bought potato, even a nice organic one, just cannot compare to a fresh baby red right out of the garden. They were, hands down, the best potatoes I have ever had, so creamy, almost milky, so flavorful, that I just had to close my eyes as I savored the genuine goodness. This breakfast truly brought me back to 100%. I head out with Rufus and we weed the garden beneath a cool cloud cover, tempered by a brisk breeze. In the afternoon, the winds blow mighty gusts of dumping water across the ridge. Rufus and I watch from a sheltered space, arms around each other’s waists, in reverence of the sky. We run through the pounding showers to the nearest greenhouse and continue the faithful work of caring for our plants. Dodging the rain, we put in a full day, which composes our fidgety farmer spirits into the calm that follows a hard day’s work. 



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