Long Hungrey Creek Farm was where this story last left off. Working all day in the sun harvesting squash, watermelons, moving cattle, and digging for arrowheads. This lasted for a week. I got sick the first day on the farm. Sneezing, sore throat, coughing, the works. From what, I'm unsure, but I thought it could have been from mold in the farm house or the hay they were bailing. Not having money for a beer at the end of a long and hard day's work was disheartening. I found myself counting pennies to buy a forty of malt liquor and coming home from work late in the evening to no running water.
After the fourth day however, I finally was invited to Jeff Poppen's house. He live about five miles down the way on a seperate 40 acre farm. He took me on a tour of his land which is surrounded by Long Hungery Creek on one side and a cavernous rock structure on the other. I explained to Jeff that I was set to leave after the weekend and had a plane flight destined for LA on Monday. I hadn't come to learn to farm, but to see and experience the rich culture of the south and an alternate way of life; one which was far removed from my own. Jeff understood. While the other interns were unloading bushels of butternut squash, He took me to his raspberry bushes. "I guess we should pick some berries for the wine we are gonna make tonight." I followed and picked raspberries with him, and of course eating a few in the process. I saw Jeff put berries in his mouth by the handful and realized it was his way of inviting me to do the same. Back home one handful of these juicey treats would cost upwards of five dollars. Jeff explained that the ideal way to eat this food is right from the earth. The wine is simply from the leftovers. I remember the moment when it hit me. I was picking berries, the sun was beginning to set, and I looked up and saw the autumn leaves falling gracefully from the slightest of wind. I thought to myself, "This is what I've been working for!"
Jeff's house is a modest white cottage with two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and one large room that is obviously used for jams. It was perfect. The house was a example to me of a man living in complete harmony with his environment; as if it was always there, like the trees, river, and caves. Back at his cottage while the interns were shucking beans, Jeff handed me his acoustic guitar. With him on banjo and the interns shaking the beans we had ourselves bluesy jam on his porch as the sun was setting. His neighbor stopped by, left only to return with a standup bass. The music continued late and we all crashed at Jeff's. The next day I woke up to Jeff making us blueberry pancakes. After another hard days work was behind us, I rallied the the interns and we headed out with guitars to Jeff's orchard to see the sunset. We missed the setting sun but caught the harvest moon.
In Asheville, I was handed some LSD from a local guy who was a doppelganger of John Turturro. He was dropping names like "the Dead Family", "friends of Jerry", and talking up his stash. He thought I ate the acid that night (as was the stipulation for him giving it to me), but it was already 1am and I wanted to save it for the farm.
So now its my last day on the farm and decide to take this dose early in the morning. I took my guitar, a water bottle, and the two tailored cigs I had left. Jeff's larger piece of land is beautiful. Three hundred acres of trees, pastures, wide open, tranquill, quiet. I forgot to bring fire and found myself searching through the abandoned busses left on Jeff's land. Jeff holds gathering twice a year. The larger taking place on the summer solstice, the smaller on the winter equinox. He has a stage and an outside kitchen.
I found a lighter in this blue bus and was on my way to the pond. In California we have hornets and even some wasps. But nothing compared to the Tennessee hornets. I saw at least ten different species of hornets all larger than grasshoppers, and all making their home on the pond. Dragonflies too. When they mate, the male attaches to the female from behind and they fly together floating above the water as one.
The rest of the interns met me there and we swam and joked and ate sweet corn fresh off the stalk. With organinc corn there is always a worm on the tip of the cob. We used them to fish in the pond. I grabbed another cob went up to the orchard once again.
I'm really beginning to feel it now. Peaking. My body is light, absorbing the rays from the sun. I am one with it all. The orchard during the day one of the most beautiful places I've been to. Barefooted now, I walk through the garden pulling the weeds to ensure the sweet potatoes are not strangled. I picked sweet peppers and ate them along with raspberries. Its really intense now. In this beautiful place, I am completely content, but lacking someone to share this memory with. I can try to relate this story to you, but it is impossible because I don't have the words. I felt God that day stronger than any previous time. Yes I ingested a substance to help me to it, but the feelings and thoughts I had were real in my mind, and I can still recall them currently. I decided next time I travelled it would be with a companion.
Still high, I went back to the intern house, packed my bag and got a ride to Jeff's where he was having a potluck. I had never met people like this before. Neighbors of Jeff's, musicians, farmers, anarchists, hippies; there was even an old shaman there named Crazy Owl. Good food, music, fellowship, and me knowing that I was about to leave this place. When I first arrived I felt sorry for the interns. They worked there asses off day in and day out, smilin, without pay. By the time I left, I realized just how wealthy they were. I didn't want to go. But I left anyways. I could have stayed. I could be there still. But I felt there were things to be done back in the Bay.
I've been home in Berkeley now for a month and a half. After leaving the farm, I went to see my family in Los Angeles. I realized it was a far easier process acclimating myself to the freedom of the road than to have it stripped from me. To go from a 300 acre farm in Tennessee to the half acre home of my youth was quite humbling. With no car and the worst public trans in the country I was a prisoner trapped inside the walls of my parents house in Anywhere, USA. I quickly realized that I had changed in this short time away, yet the world I left behind remained on pace with its past.
I bought a motorcycle.
The state of California gave me my license after only riding for two days! It needs some work but I'm determined to get this horse running strong. I've been rehearsing with my band. We performed at my friend, Tony's art openning/birthday.
Things are good here once again. The trip isn't over. I'm just stopping here for an extended stay. When the weather changes I'm looking to head through Mexico, however south as we want.
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