Like some mythical journey, my return to the family farm after 17 years felt to me a hero’s welcome. Much has changed through the caring and focused hands of my grandparents. Additions to the old farm house. New berms and gardens. Updated architecture and structure.

Much has stayed exactly the same. Long walks in fresh cut grass. Rows and rows of corn. Raspberries so fresh and ripe one has only to place your hand under them, and with a gentle nudge they fall into your palm juicy and sweet.

Hay baler on hungry patrol

My heart gladdened by the site of warm sun on the faces of my sweet girls. The land seems happy to receive us. So different from city streets. In the concrete jungle, a world made of man’s intention to dominate and control, one feels connected with self only. Here, awareness expands to envelop the whole of the land. One can feel the lakes on either side, the rich fertility of the soil and the trees with their mighty crowns. And in return the land seems to reach to us and caress with soft yet powerful graces.

Early evening at the farm

Neighbors to the South

Stephy on a walk, twinkle in her eye.

Magic Wand

Seed Plugger

Grandma making jokes at dinner.

In the shade