I have never felt so disconnected from the farm. And now that the men have been consumed by the rat race of potato harvest, sowing winter wheat and preparing for new steers, I am finding more and more solace in thinking about all of the little everyday details of the changes to come after my farmer and I exchange our vows. Everyday when I talk to him, he reminds me of the countdown, “63 days, baby….57 days…” We are like NASA’s next rocket awaiting our launch into infinity and beyond.
Soon my routine will be inseparably woven with that of the farm’s and our rhythms will synchronize.