Versus the Wind While Camped Near a Failing Farmhouse

Oak tree at Lee-Vaughan Farm (photo courtesy Patrick Vaughan)

I know it knows we are here.
As we talk about the wind it quiets off.
It collects itself in the far corner of the field,
takes a running start, launches at us again.

It seems to want something.  I wonder
if it takes as much pleasure in sending a tent
flying as we take in seeing a tent on the move.

It translates a gunshot, it stokes the fire.
It pries metal from the shed,
it pulls the hat from your head.  

It opens one door, slams another.  
It absconds with the coffee filters.
It leaves dirt on the doorstep,
it tries to speak in the trees.

It takes popcorn from the plate
but doesn’t eat it.
It takes twenty dollars from the ledge
but doesn’t spend them.
It loosens your hair in the air
but it does not love you.

The wind is how hay stretches
It is how rock changes color
It is where the smoke goes

But at dusk
the wind follows the light
over the wide horizon.
We unpack our things
and lay them about
like feathers.

As a fire burns
we listen to
a whip-poor-will
sing into the still air
of the night
as it winnows
its lonesome away.

Billy tending to a tent on the move (photo courtesy Patrick Vaughan)

Fall Farm Party 2018


Dateline Farm.  First tea of the season.  October 11—kind of late for first tea, methinks.  B agrees.  It's Thursday.  She took a sicker.

It's sunny and breezy.  The blue jays make ratchety calls.  All in all the place was in good shape upon our arrival.  The freezer was running strong.  The four trays of ice were cold and full.  I cracked them and filled the owl, part-way.  It amazes me that old freezer works so well.  Even the fridge compartment had a chill to it, which isn't always true.  I was here three weeks ago; left it running in anticipation...

Click here to read more

Farm Party, Fall 2013

Then E Vaughan.  He unwraps and tosses a potay—it lands with a thud.  I go and get more wood from the creek bed.  Patrick helps, drags back a cedar.  E Vaughan is working on the tractor.  Will it start? 

Putt, putt, huff, huff... 

"Come on, baby!" 

"Now we have liftoff!" 

"Don't start counting your chickens yet."

Patrick saws.  B offers up the last two cinnamon rolls.  Bucky and Sarah are down, getting their stuff together.  There was a day, down here, the first Sunday, when we were eager for getaway....

E Vaughan backs the tractor up the hill...

My first Farm Party account...