Exhaustion, restoration and mini miracles

Life has a way of changing in a minute. Especially when you are traveling. After extending my time at Serenity Acres, I found myself getting dangerously close to burning out. The rugged schedule of 10-12 hour days was tough enough, but what was more difficult was the sheer length of the days. After ascertaining that two eight hour days would not be acceptable, I left 2 days sooner than expected. My overall experience was quite positive, but I realized that the Wwoofing experience can vary dramatically from farm to farm, and in the future, I will be avoiding farms that require more than 40 hours per week.

I had two free days and after an invitation from Lani, I headed north to a farm one hour outside of Atlanta in an old railroad town, called Maysville, that looked as if it had stopped in time. It was the sort of town that makes my imagination go wild as I pictured the old historic homes renovated, the gardens planted, and the streets full of life as they once must have been. There are countless towns like this, places that have few options for a revived economy, unless they are gentrified as tourist hot spots. Later, when Lani and I ate in the Maysville Saloon, a lovingly restored historic building that featured simple food and live music, it was less of a stretch for me to imagine a future for this town, despite the fact that the "saloon" was unable to serve alcohol. Such is life in the bible belt. I can pick up wine and beer at the gas station, but I can't order a glass with my meal at a restaurant.

Knotty Pine Farms is a beautiful, even magical, property of undulating hills, acorn trees, a raised-bed organic garden, horse and pig pastures, a large pond, a main house and a storybook 2 bedroom cabin. I couldn't believe my good fortune! (Yes, as it turns out, I still enjoy the good life). In no time, we had the fire roaring and were catching up over dinner and wine. That night I fell asleep within eye view of the dying fire, in a beautiful bed nestled into an alcove, listening to ducks and passing trains while reflecting on how closing one door to something that did not serve me allowed this one to open.

The owners, Floyd and Kim, have a strong vision for Knotty Pine Farms. They are currently raising food for themselves and selling the meat of their heritage hogs (while maintaining a commercial real estate business), but the real goal is to turn the farm into a healing/retreat center. Kim is a hands on energy healer and uses a process called "energization". Generously, she offered me a healing session that we squeezed in just before I left on Saturday morning. It was a session unlike any that I've had before and I felt empowered, clearer, more focused, and stronger afterwards. Kim assured me that the effects will continue over the course of the next month.

After a full day of work planting potatoes, onions, carrots, lettuce, dill, cilantro, basil, and more, Lani and I sat on the porch with Floyd swapping stories and perspectives. On the way up, I had seen a Georgia Department of Transportation truck spraying weed killer on the highway. This was an incredibly disturbing site to see and I mentioned this to Floyd. Floyd acknowledged how challenging it is living in a conservative region having embraced a eco-sensitive lifestyle. The town of Maysville stopped their recycling program because it was not well received.

Our conversations covered a lot of ground and Floyd clearly wanted to talk about things we shared, but also, perhaps the things that we don't share. As he talked about his desire to move beyond polarization (as a nation) into healthy dialogue, I felt moved and deeply appreciative of him, Kim, and their family. It was abundantly clear to me that the farm is about so much more than farming. It is about healing in its highest forms and both Lani and I were benefitting from their vision and actions.

All good things must morph, so after my healing session with Kim, I gathered my things to hit the road. But not before Floyd handed me a jar of homemade granola and a blue marble. The marble, he said, is something he cannot explain until I come back.

So, I guess it's settled then.