Agraria_Journal_Summer_2022

A Spring Afternoon on The Narrow Way Farm As the cool morning flows into the warm afternoon, I lace up my black work boots and throw on my comfortable, lightweight farm hoodie. Walking outside, I pull my leather work gloves out of my pocket and slip them on. Instead of getting straight down to business, I stop momentarily when I step onto the grass. I close my eyes and take a slow, deep breath of fresh spring air. Head tilted upward, delightful rays of healing sunlight caress my face, and I smile. I exhale, open my eyes, and walk in the direction of the big gray barn, smile still intact. Shifting quickly past the newly erected volleyball net, I spot its lonely looking partner, the ball, under a nearby maple tree. It sure would be nice to play a game or two, I dream, but with all the work that needs to be done, who has time for that? The youngest two of my crew have made it outside before me and are pulling a large metal wagon just beyond the barn. “Mom!” the ‘baby’ of the family shouts excitedly as she darts toward me. We embrace, do our customary hug-dance and I kiss her soft, hazelnut colored cheek. “Do you work here today, Sweet Pumpkin?” I ask. That’s my way of asking if she would like to help me get some work done around the farm. “Yes ma’am,” she sparks, face bright with a grin. “What are we going to do?” Rolling back the large barn door, I step inside, grab a few shovels and turn to face her again. “We’re going to plant some shrubs today,” I say. Even though she’s just five years old, this is not her first shrub planting party. In fact, she’s been helping plant shrubs ever since she could smooth dirt out on the ground. “We need the wagon, the hose, a few five-gallon buckets, and my transplanting bag… …You can get the wagon and some buckets… …and I’ll get the hose and my transplanting bag.” Going in separate directions, we start out to get the necessary supplies. When we meet again at the same place from whence we departed, I place the shovels and my transplanting bag in the wagon. “What’s in that bag?” she wonders out loud. I unzip the bag, open it wide so that she can peer into it and I begin to explain its contents. The bag seems to have everything in it but the wash-station sink. Pruners, knives, and scissors. Pencils, pens, and markers. Paper, plastic and metal plant stakes. Bags in various shapes and sizes. Some old, some new, some paper, some plastic. There are more items, but if I continue to list them, this might turn into a novel. BY TIA STUART