Dear Farm Journal,
Over the last week, I have been unable to wrestle pen and picture to the pages of this journal. In a greater sense, I’m grappling with the emptiness of farm life outside of the growing season. Spring, Summer, and Fall are teeming with light and life, filled with abundance and interminable inspiration. The utter juxtaposition of winter offers darkness, frozen soil, and a somberly sinking energy flow. My earlier winters on the farm were filled with the endless reading material of graduate school work, where I was often transported away from the realities of winter. Yet I remember asking Rufus, “Do you miss farming? Do you miss the plants, the food?” Now I must face it square on, no philosophical distractions, no burying my nose in a book for 8 hours a day. I must compel myself to seek out the innate wonder of winter, unearth its deep anomalous poetry, reflect on the rejuvenation… if I am to reap the same joy from all seasons.

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