arn with 3 cooing chickens, Karen and my Mom having just left to return to DC in the Zipcar they rented to drop me off for my new adventure.The entire crew was still at the Takoma Park farmers market so I meandered between the tomato rows to pass time. What was I possibly thinking, a lifelong city boy, coming to work on a farm? The chickens, wandering with me, nodded sympathetically. Its true, they seemed to say, farm life can be isolating. But remarkably, reception here in Wheatland, Virginia is better than at home, so I called Karen and then a few friends, which soothed my nerves.
As the sun started descending my nesting instinct kicked in, and I swept out the 10-by-15 foot storage room, now my bedroom, in the barn where the farm workers sleep. Using a crate as a dustbin, I threw out the dust, dead beetles, glass shards, and snake skin, and wondered if I'm ready for this journey. At 6:30, still alone, I really began to question my judgment. Instead, I focused on being hungry, wandered back through the fields and picked an orange pepper, a purple and white streaked eggplant, and green basil and returned to the workers kitchen where I sautéd them. Chomping on my first freshly-picked farm meal, crickets chirping outside, I did feel a sense of satisfaction, and certainty that whatever happens in the next 7 weeks, I won't go hungry.
