Musings of a Misfit Farmer

You’re Invited.

I invite you to be a part of our ongoing story of growth. Relax, smile, and stay awhile. All of you are glorious, and all of you are welcome.

Welcome to learn and grow.

Welcome to plant and to sow,

Welcome to laugh and to dream and hold fast

To however we plant seeds as a firstborn or last.

~Trisha

Dear Dungarees,

Mr. Farmer (married to this misfit farmer) does things differently than I.

Last year, our greenhouse was filled with mystery, wonder, and unidentified vegetables. I missed the unspoken memo about labeling what you sow. I was whimsically unaware I should mark what I planted. In my defense, I assumed I would remember, and I'm a lastborn, so I don't really care about minor details. Also, I thought a serpentine pattern of seeds would be enchanting. Last season’s harvest was a continual current of mystery blessings.

This year, Mr. Farmer planted all the seeds in orderly straight rows labeled with colorful markers and finished off with tip-top penmanship. Now everything is neat, tidy, labeled, and very first-born male-approved.

This year’s harvest will be a predictable blessing of abundance. With little to no mystery or whimsey except….

I may have tossed some random unmarked seeds in a garden bed or two when he wasn’t looking just to keep things exciting. Don’t tell Mr. Farmer.

P.s. I would like to celebrate my goats who kept things lively today by sneaking into the greenhouse and also into our neighbor's yard while we planted seeds like organized adults.

And lastly, I would like to celebrate both the civilized farmers and the misfit farmers of this world because we are all ✨glorious✨.