Dear Farm Journal,
Easter comes and goes shrouded in a cumbersome heartache. My soul swings low as I long to gather with our family and friends, to prepare a superfluous feast, to share memories and laughter, but the farmhouse is empty. I pass the day connecting through phone calls and video chats that feel hollow in comparison to the embraces we all crave so deeply. The dismal skies only further dampen my eyes, as Rufus and I cover the plants. The forecast is calling for snow and cold temps. We planted carrots and beets outside yesterday, and Rufus said, “All you gotta do is plant some shit outside, and you can be sure it will snow”, so of course. “Hang in there, little plants”. Sometimes that’s all we can do.

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