I’m closing in on four months of self isolation at Roaring Creek Farm.
It’s now July, and in the Big Bend of Florida that means the weather is hot and humid and occasionally interrupted by thunderstorms.
The farm is most definitely located below the gnat line, and anyone familiar with South Georgia and this part of North Florida knows what that means. Professor Google says that the gnats disappear at the end of June, but I can testify that not all of them got the message.
The tomatoes in the garden are hanging on despite the heat, but the squash is done and the purple hulls and black-eye peas are all but finished although they were bountiful in their prime. And much to my surprise I actually picked lima beans this year, a crop I’ve never had any luck with.
My wife has been here some, but I’ve been alone much of the time. There are lessons to be learned in isolation. Patience and faith are two of them.
Another is that in all of the craziness surrounding us during this time, the wonders of the natural world haven’t missed a beat.
The cardinals welcome the sunrise each morning, and the chuck-wills-widows serenade throughout the night.
Eastern bluebirds dart and hover as they search for insects, and the crows carry on with their spirited debates.
On my early morning walks, before the temperature climbs into the 90s, I notice little things I would have missed in the city.
The dandelions follow the sun, and the morning glories — or bindweeds, I’m not sophisticated enough to know the difference — welcome each day.
Each day offers a blessing. Be glad and rejoice in it. There is no room for hatred. There is no room for discrimination. As a nation, we have been on that path for far too long and we suffer because of it.
We must chart a new way forward, or we will perish.