Peter and Mark have headed out on their much-deserved month-long sojourn to Turkey, and the farm, in all its indian summer glory, has been left in the hands of the artists.
With Kyle’s background in painting and visual art and mine in literature and poetics, we go about our work here with a weird zeal for the farm’s hidden visuals and narratives. Often we’ll stop what we’re doing and comment on the way the light happens to be hitting the barn, or imagine the various alliances, feuds, and romances that may be unraveling in the pig pen.
Friday was the first properly cool and blustery morning of autumn here, and the changing weather offers no shortage of material for paintings or poems. Cool evenings bring out an amorous streak in our rams, boars, and bulls, and the pretense of a fall migration has the geese tanking up on feed and being even more loud and gregarious than usual. The yellow jackets sense the end and are attacking fallen fruit and vegetables and wayward fingers with a newfound zeal. And in the garden, the weeds haven’t gotten the message, and continue to try to thwart the steady march of produce I’ve got coming in for the tables and pantries and fridges of the Turkana Farms customers.
Maybe we’re over-romanticizing, as artists are wont to do, but there is a feeling of celebration permeating the farm this week. Frost in the distance makes sunshine on your back feel a little sweeter, and the plants and animals seem to agree. Wherever you are and whatever weather you’re in, we sincerely hope this feeling strikes you as well.