Sometimes work really feels like work.
Other times, the Sakonnet river garlands the beach thick with seaweed, and Sarah and I spend the morning filling up the back of the truck, take a quick (very quick) dip in the April ocean, stop to fondle succulents at Peckham’s greenhouse, grab some noontime ice cream, and cruise home with the Dodge windows down (no radio yet, but yes salt in our hair and sand in our socks.)
Those little urban kales of ours get a good mulching. A while later the neighbor calls me to tell me the chickens are loose. When I get back to the farm, I find the happiest five birds: perched on the newly dumped pile of seaweed, feasting on sand fleas.
It was some kind of Friday.
And I know July is coming. And before that May, June. Breaking ground, building beds, getting all those warm weather crops started. We will have plenty of long days of work that feels like work. Of getting into bed sore, blistered, sunburned and sleepy.
BUT, we’re never more than 40 minutes from the freakin Atlantic!
I love being a Rhode Island farmer.
(P.S. Seaweed is good for EVERYTHING: mulch with it, put it in your compost, steep it for a week and use the water to gatorade your plants… yeahhH! The Native Americans were onto it; you could too.)