Dear Farm Journal,
Waking up on a pack out day portends thoughts of harvest behind shuttered eyes, emerging from dreams measuring the sky. Day breaks with a chill subduing our hurry to beat the greenhouse blaze. I observe a blanketing repose in our working demeanor, a notable hush of last season’s anxieties. We have a growing composure, a poise erecting from a more stable foundation. By some obscure orchestration of fate, generosity, and quarantine, we find ourselves immersed in the grace of doing what we love, meeting a vital need, and waking up in a world where dreams extend into daylight.