I always liken the fields as open cathedrals, ready for worshipers of all denominations or non denominations, especially on days like today-frosted with pure white.
While the weather has created non stop hardship for many farmers, there are moments I have to remember to stop and breathe–in, and out. I'm lucky to work out of my home studio, at my pace, and to be able to take my morning walk surrounded by all this.
Today I spent a lot of time going through lots of old photos for a project- I looked at many images of the farm, and of me and Martyn and the animals–some are gone now but many are growing old with us. I had some overwhelming feelings as I looked at photos from our arrival in 2004–there were no real paddocks or gardens, the fields were overgrown,and it just looked so alien in a way. I realized just how wrapped up in Apifera I am now, we are joined together at this stage in life and I don't go anywhere without her. As I looked at myself–younger by ten years–with less midline, less wobbly neck, not only did I see how much I've aged physically, but how much I've evolved too. There were photos of art and things I was creating that just seem very foreign, like I had landed here and was evolving so rapidly that I was just trying each and every thing I could to stay focused. It was a time of upheavel-in a good way. But it was a huge transition to move here, not know anyone, be new to all the things we set out to do-farm, raise sheep, harvest lavender.
But it was all meant to happen, just as it did, and with the exact people and animals that came with it.
Time is going fast. It's been ten years in June since we moved here–what will the next ten bring to all of us?
While time goes fast, the days that make up these years will be filled with many beautiful slower, moments, hard times and lessons, but beauty in the faces of my sheep and the comfort of the melancholy fog. Melancholy brings our sensations to the outer planes of our skin, allowing us to be moved by even the minute detail of one leaf covered in frost.
