How exactly does one ride a buffalo?

Yesterday the five of us loaded up a cooler full of corn pones, peaches, corn bread, ham, boiled eggs, and booze, donned our swimsuits and sunscreen, and crammed ourselves into Emilee's little Subaru with our sights set on the river. It was a long and beautiful drive to the Buffalo, and I enjoyed it like I always enjoy our little sojourns through the Arkansas country. We passed expansive green fields dotted with the dark shapes of cows, trees, and little farm houses and farm pick-up trucks. We drove over countless little bridges extended across running streams, brooks, creeks, and rivers. The sky was blue. The clouds were white. The company was full of laughter and singing and talk and quiet.

When we made it to the river (just in time, I might add - 2:30 on the dot) we sat on the cooler for a while drinking beer and waiting for the bus full of canoes to come pick us up. It was the tiniest little bus you ever saw, toting a trailer full of boats that easily doubled its size. We all filed in and giggled the whole way down to the drop off point. Hailey and I (henceforth to be known as Tom and Huck) took one boat. Seth, Emilee, Ben and the cooler took the other. I don't think we stopped laughing the whole way down the river as we swam, raced, and hung out on the occasional beach. The view was incredible. Huge cliffs and hills stretched up high on either side of us. The exposed stone shone in the sunlight, and the green leaves glistened with the splashes of water. It was incredibly hot under the midday sun, but we slathered on the sunscreen. I am happy to report only slightly pink skin showed up at the breakfast table this morning. No burns in the bunch!

At the end of our afternoon on the river we all sat around the car finishing up the snacks and talking about life - specifically relationships. When we were done sharing, laughing, and maybe even crying a bit, we all piled back in the 'Buru and headed home. As we drove the sun set on our right, and in the cool darkness we rolled down the windows and turned up the Bob Dylan. I let my feet hang out the window of the front seat and felt the air and sometimes a tiny bug hitting my feet. It was a spectacular drive for me, filled with warmth and calm and fulfillment and friendship. One of the best drives of my life, no question.

At home Seth and I took the dogs to the garden (they keep out the deer). Emilee, Ben, and Hailey emptied the cooler and made eggs. We all hung around a bit longer before our farm beds began to beckon and we answered obediently, dragging ourselves into the sheets and blankets where we all fell asleep happy, heavy, and full from a good day.

Who's my favorite?

Photo By Ben Williams

We have spent two days with neighbor farmer Ray Daley, and I have loved them both the way you love a good pecan pie right out of the oven. Just delicious. The first day was spent at Ray's farm checking out his garden and his animals. The second day was spent at his son's creamery where the two of them work together to turn their dairy milk into their delightful cheeses! It was really incredible to watch the two barrel sized men standing side by side or opposite each other over a large vat of milk and curd. It was incredible to watch them stirring, scraping, and sifting in perfect union like a simple and meaningful dance they had done together for thousands of years. Back and forth, circle in circle, lifting and dropping. It made me feel comfortable to watch them do this together without speaking, only with gentle, occasional, and knowing eye contact. The son's farm was beautiful that day with big fluffy clouds laced together like crochet in the easy blue sky. Flat green fields stretched out for acres, scattered with baled hay, until the pasture met the tree line and the forrest took over the landscape. In the foreground sheets hung from clothes lines blowing in the slow breeze. Tin houses and sheds covered old equipment and knickknacks, and the dog lay under the truck panting in the shade. It seemed like everything was different shades of blue, green, brown and white. It was so bright out there and simple but at the same time deep and old and full of work and thought and history. I liked that.

How much does it cost?

Growing food that feeds your body. An old tradition. But a diminishing one, it seems. In my regular life I often find myself walking around a huge chain grocery store buying my batteries, my bread, and my orange juice all while sipping on a Starbucks coffee just to wind up waiting in a 20 minute line only to deal with a rude teenager behind the cash register who is haphazardly tossing my barcoded items across his zerox-style reader. Here in Greenbrier I find myself turning down onions on the side of the road because they've traveled 15 miles too far to suit my farm diet. I like that. I like knowing my food came directly from a farm instead of directly from a factory or a processing plant where it was cut and seasoned and packaged by industrial machines and the occasional gloved hand. I like using soap that was made in the home of a simple woman I shared some time with over a wooden farmers market table and later a cheese vat (a story for later). I liked running into her accidentally and saying, hi, I met you the other day. I use your soap. How great and how proud that must have made her feel. And how great and proud it made me feel, as well, to be using something someone designed, created, and labored over in their own home. And to have looked that person in the eye and passed some time together. The farmers and I are going over to Tammy Sue's house next week to see how she makes her soaps. She is excited to have us over and show off her handy work. She even said she'd wait to make this week's soaps until we had the time to come watch. There is something indescribably nice about sharing your labors with your neighbors. When we visit Ray he sends us home with butter and cheese; we bring him sunflowers and pickles from our garden. The sharing is the way we exchange our pride and our joy, our gratitude and our delight. It's something that, until now, I have never quite experienced. The closest thing being potluck dinner parties where someone brings a hand made dish and someone else brings a veggie plate they picked up wrapped in cellophane at the Piggly Wiggly. I've always heard "It's the thought that counts," and I agree. Here at the farm when we think about Ray Daley or Aunt Maura we plan out what we will make for them days in advance, gather recipes, search for ingredients, and then put together a cake or a jar of pickles raw piece by raw piece - spending much more time thinking about that friend than I maybe ever have before. Definitely much more time that the person behind the Piggly Wiggly counter spent thinking about my friend while they wrapped my veggie plate in cellophane.