Birches Bend

     I never thought I'd be a farmer's wife. Yet, here I am- Mrs. Farmer-in-the-Dell. Three years ago my husband and I purchased forty-one acres of raw land which is slowly being turned into a farm.  My husband maintains the farm which is about 250 miles away from where I teach, so our marriage has turned into a long distance relationship. 

    Our farm, Birches Bend, is named for one of my favorite Robert Frost poems, and for the beautiful birches that gather in small groups in the beginning seven acres of the farm. I love to watch as  their leaves flutter in the breeze and as their trunks sway in the wind that swoops in from the west. 

    Because we have so much acreage, we have a variety of landscapes. The mostly cleared land that is  dotted with birch trees and apple trees slopes gently down from the road. We have acres and acres of dense woods that, when we explore, remind me of being lost in a fairy tale. I expect to stumble upon a witch's cottage one day. I have found an abandoned ancient truck, blue glass, an old crucible, and antique glass bottles in the woods. 

    We have some swampy land that reaches up and grabs your feet, and forces you to yell for help. Being stuck in the muck is not much fun, especially in the summer when your arms and legs are being attacked by mosquitoes and deer flies, and your feet are held hostage. . . not fun at all. 

    We have three small lakes which we haven't yet named, and access to a sixty acre lake in which we fish and kayak. The dog loves being out on the lake. 

    We have eight chickens: two boys and six girls. I hate them- especially the boy chickens. They crow and carry on and attack me and the dog. One of the boy chickens got eaten by something wild, and I was not sad to hear about his murder. The chickens' eggs, however, are amazing. Our chickens are free-range and organic, and their eggs  are magical. The shells are brown and blue and solid from all of the roaming that they do. The bright yellow yolks and the viscous whites create the most delicious meals. I've made rice pudding, bread, deviled eggs, omelets, and plain-old scrambled eggs that are anything but. . . 

    I spent the spring and the summer working on the farm, while my husband was laid up with a broken leg. I grew pumpkins, tomatoes, basil, watermelons, onions, corn, and thyme. I attempted other seedlings, but they died as itty bitty baby plants. It was my first time as a gardener, my first time growing, fertilizing, and cultivating the vegetables. It is a lot of work, but so rewarding. 

    We have big plans for this year's garden, and we have big plans for Birches Bend: goats, rabbits, chickens, apple orchards, vineyards, and acres of vegetables and fruits. 

    As soon as I am done writing, I am going to pack my bags for a visit to Birches Bend. When I am there, time slows down. My husband and I wander, explore, and reconnect with nature and, most importantly, with one another.