Morning yoga in an old tobacco field. Exploring by bike. Digging up old irrigation lines. Moving goat manure to the garden (and getting to ride on the tractor while talking with the farmer, Lish, about life).

Taking a hoe to a corner of the garden the size of my recent refugee Sharing Garden. Enjoying Lish’s stunning food — breakfast bread with peaches and pecans; spicy chickpeas over rice for lunch; pizza with artichokes, mushrooms and pesto for dinner. Putting the chickens to bed. Saying goodnight to the cows under a burnt orange sunset. Counting the stars.

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There’s more going on here, of course, in this family. In this community. In me. Loss and learning . Challenge and choices. Hard work, and the glimmer of hope around every corner.

Lish has vision, and I see where she’s going. We’re planting more fruit trees. We’re fixing fences. We’re milking a goat so that its milk can make that leap to immortality called cheese. We’re getting up each day and letting the chickens out again to forage. To fend for themselves. To find what they need.

And I’m finding what I need, too.