verge (vʉrj)
the edge, brink, or margin (of something): also used figuratively the verge of the forest, on the verge of hysteria

to tend or incline (to or toward)
to be in the process of change or transition into something else; pass gradually (into) dawn verging into daylight

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Farmer Joe

Lucky me today.  I mosied out to the farm to get my spinach, eggs, strawberries, and lobster (yes, I said lobster) and happened to catch Farmer Joe taking a break from herding the galloping snap peas, bok choy, and broccoli.  He was awfully hot but he was patiently accepting visitors.  And there were many today.

Lobster Bob wasn't in yet so I kindly thanked Joe for the veggies and strawberries and chatted awhile.  He mentioned that he's 13 years old now but with this thriving family farm, he's got too much to do to be laying around in front of the summer screen door all day long.  As we chatted, more and more people arrived looking for fresh-picked goodies for their Saturday night dinners.  Joe, clearly the farm's patriarch, seemed cool as a cucumber towards his herd of veggie-seekers.  Can I pat him? they'd ask of his family.  A-yup, Joe would say.

In the back field, Joe's other herd was lounging in the shade of the trees.  Chickens and lamas kept their backs to us, seemingly bored with us all.  It's just another day on the farm....

Joe asked about Maeve, the very pretty and wildly rambunctious Corgi from Connecticut.  He said blueberries would be in later this summer and he remembers how much she loves them.  Tell her to stop by and see me, he said.  But only if she wants.  Not because I want her to or anything like that, he blushed.  It's up to her. Either way, makes no difference to me, he shrugged.

We chatted a bit longer and then I stepped back to take in the rhythm of the farm.  It's very, very beautiful, this farm.  There's a breeze blowing there that seems to sweep up the joy that grows from the soil and is echoed in the eyes of its inhabitants.  It ripples through the clothes on the line, dancing as friends do together.  The sweet smell of the earth draws us all there.  You really must come...

Go home and enjoy your veggies, Joe said.  I certainly did.  And don't forget to tell Maeve about the berries.  Tell 'er Farmer Joe says he'll be waiting right here.

Farmer Joe's bounty


  1. Such joy in your posts! Thank you (and Joe) for the stories.

  2. Lovely- just lovely. You have a wonderful way with words!