Yesterday I used a big blade to separate water irises to move them to better ground. I keep calling it a machete, but it’s not – it has a sort of hook at the end. Oh well. It’s a big ole past-knife blade.

At one point I decided I had maybe lost my mind – feet slipping in mud, what are the kids doing, rain sprinkling on me, hands past my wrists in muddy water making sure those clumps were gonna be covered when the flood finally soaked into the ground.

Yesterday was a turning point in a lot of ways.

I had a shovel in my hands. I dug up squelching mud to slide it out of my way – it made creepy horror movie noises, like, in a horror movie, something would have gone very wrong at that point.

And I just keep thinking about more details from yesterday. A year ago… a year ago I would not have lasted to do 1/3 of the work I did yesterday.

Jonathan looked at me last night and said “So you’re SERIOUS about these things you’ve been talking about wanting to do… about trying to farm.” and I just smiled.

I say it a lot because it keeps being true (even as it morphs into the next stage of the path): It’s funny how things can feel like mistakes and false starts and then you catch a glimpse of how it really does all fit together.

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