This summer while visiting the farm, I headed up the long field road to my brother’s house.  It is pretty hard going uphill and I found myself concentrating on my feet and the baby on my back.  When I got to the top I turned around.  The view of the fields, some fallow and some freshly harvested, slopping down, trees on all sides and mountains rolling away into the distant horizon is awe-inspiring.

I recall that this part of Pennsylvania is a gentle section of the strong Appalachia.  What I see before me is childhood, promise and wonder for me.  It holds memories from most of my lifetime.  Down to the left and up a tree is where I sat in a stand reading Hemingway my first deer season.  I remember driving the tractor when the kicker broke on the bailer and a storm was coming, Ben and my dad picking up bales and throwing them into the wagon behind me.  Right in the center was where Matt and I dreamed of being married with an aisle and room mowed into the tall grass, before deciding instead to go to a JP.

And I recollect that delicious smell of birch bark scrapped from a tree by my father’s pocket knife at the fields’ edge.  And even though I am this family’s keeper of good memories, I can also remember some predator-feeding chicken raising and bumps with the farm-truck.

Now my brother owns the top of this hill, the forest behind me.  He has expanded the family farm, something my father loves since he believes in Land.  All the kids picked berries along the rich divide between field and forest, got some poison-ivy and I got to remember.  And my brother has made this view his kitchen window, seeing it each morning as he rounds up the cows and again as he steps out of the shop at the end of the day.

This view has become Kate’s now for almost 10 years.  I think I will call a family meeting to order.  I wonder what each member will recall of this sight, this place so different in each season.  This earth, sloping away from me now binds us together.

It’s May.  There is a fervor around the countryside- fields are plowed, harrowed, seeded; rounds are made checking on hay crops. It’s the time of year to, “Go- full throttle.” The longest day of the year is nearing. You’re thinking if I’m going to do it, I’d better do it now.

The other side of this energy that spins thru our May days- is feeling overwhelmed. It’s easy to get stuck.  I’ve been a little stuck- not so inspired. I’m going to tell myself that its not the time of year to get inspired. It’s go time.  There are times to sit and ponder [the deep of January], times to dream and savor [cool october days] and times to get busy [May? perhaps].

I’m a big fan of, “going with it.” Go with what feels right. Now is the time of year to hold steady and keep up. At least thats what I’m telling myself. Right now- we’re overbooked with orders for Gatski Metal sculptures [hip hip hooray]. We’re enjoying extended visits from New Zealand family and last and definitely least- fighting off spring colds.

I’m now officially unstuck- thanks to writing this for Scoutie Girl’s We Scout Wednesday.

There are some fantastic photos on early 1900’s farming by the Library of Congress. That’s where the above photo came from.

Today I’m thrilled to share the beauty and bounty of Forks Farm. Forks Farm [owned by the Hopkins family] is nestled in the hills of Northern Pennsylvania. Although the setting is calm and tranquil- the farm is nothing but bustle. Forks Farm produces pastured poultry, grass fed beef and lamb and woodlot pork. They host a bountiful market where local farmers come to sell their fresh meats, raw dairy, breads, produce and more! True delight.

It doesn’t stop there. Forks Farm is not only your one stop shop for flavor, it is the place to learn about sustainable agriculture.  The Hopkins of Forks Farm are innovators and leaders; In a subtle and generous way they help many people understand the importance of healthy farms and healthy foods. Bravo! I recommend becoming a fan of Forks Farm or a follow on twitter. Stay up to date on what’s happening on their farm- it’s well worth a day trip.