Farm Fresh Blog

Those of us who live on the edge of civilized society, where the line between life and death is narrow, tend to view the world differently.  Son read an email post to me yesterday that summed it up nicely.

"Your worst nightmare is my Wednesday."

That says it all. And this leads us to Life Lesson #7. Years ago I was going through a particularly rough patch in life, struggling through a bad break-up and a new job - one that nightly shoved man's inhumanity and the injustices of life in my face like a cold, wet sponge. To brighten up my world, I began buying little bunches of sunflowers from the grocery store.  That's when I discovered one of the great secrets to life - plunk some sunflowers in a vase, and the world is a better place. 

A particular bunch still stands out in my mind.  When I got them home, I noted the stalk of one flower was twisted and out of sync with the rest. At first, I chided myself for not taking better care to pick out perfect flowers, but then, as I often do, I shrugged and said "This was meant to be. This particular bunch was meant for me, imperfections and all."

So I stuck my imperfect bunch in a vase, filled it with water and thought nothing more about it. The next morning I noticed that ALL the flowers were pointed toward the window - toward the sun. I could not find the imperfect stalk.  All had turned toward the sun.  This moment was a shining epiphany.  I had stumbled upon another of life's lessons.

Life rumbled on, but I never forgot the lesson of the sunflower. Follow the light. Turn toward the sun. Another of life's lessons I've learned is "There are no coincidences. Everything happens for a reason."

Fast forward to yesterday.

After I sold the other house, a reader asked me, "What will happen to Failte Gate Farm?"

I said, "Nothing. The farm is the animals, not the place. Where the animals go, so will the name."

Unfortunately, this hasn't proven to be the case. Yes, the core group of animals is still here, but they are refugees floating in a boat, waiting to arrive at the Promised Land. The farm has indeed, turned out to be a place. This has bothered me. Whenever I think of Failte Gate Farm, my mind conjures up aging wood fences, a vine-covered trellis, a greening welcome gate. The farm was more than the animals.

Failte Gate Farm was to become something else, but what? Like a cat scratching at the door, it stayed in the back of my mind. Ignoring it, I focused on the new ranch - a place where my quaint little farm would combine with his cattle company. This ranch is more than a piece of land - it is a pearl of great value, and I have sold everything I own to possess it.

Like Failte Gate Farm, it is a living, breathing entity.

On it there will be room for a home, a cattle company, and my little drop of sunshine - my place in the sun.

For years I have dreamt of this place, so much like the forests of my childhood, a place to walk in the dappled sunlight, with perhaps a little cabin of my own, to read, to write, to draw, to reflect.

And so yesterday when I was once again, pouring through mountains of homebuilding ideas, I wasn't surprised to stumble upon the answer to the problem that had stuck in my mind like a cockle burr to a shoelace . . .

. . . "Girasole"

I turned the page on my calendar and a vase of sunflowers waved at me. The caption read: The Italians called the sun-facing flower girasole, "turns toward the sun."

Eureka!  I have found it! The name of my place in the sun! Like a stone key unlocking an ancient puzzle, the pieces clicked together - "Girasole"

I no longer worry that Failte Gate Farm is no more. It has become Girasole, ("jeer a sol ae") as once again, I turn toward the sun.