Week of December 30, 2015 - Fifty Years of Justine and Susun, contd.

Wednesday, December 30, 2015 11:55 AM | Wise Woman (Administrator)

Fifty Years of Justine and Susun, contd.

From our Catskill mountain retreat, we ventured out regularly to look for “our” farm. It wasn’t far away. In the next town, Delhi, on Hollister Hill Road, on one hundred and fifty acres, at the end of a dead-end road, a mile from the nearest neighbor, I found my dream. I was in paradise. I was in love. My fascination with plants engulfed me totally and I settled in to spend the rest of my life learning about them from the ground of my own farm.

Hollister Hill – Flower Child: As the seventies bloomed, so did Justine. We both adored our farm and spent endless hours exploring and enjoying it. The previous owners left me a ¼ acre organic vegetable garden and beds of flowering perennials that brightened every season. I planted every herb I could get my hands on.

Hollister Hill – Mistress of Snakes: Mushrooms, plants, herbs, and everything else we could observe and touch. Justine and I would sit quietly, with birdseed in our palms, until the chickadees would eat from our hands. Often she would giggle and scare them away. But even a millisecond of feeling a wild thing trust you enough to share touch is an enormous blessing.

Hollister Hill – Fairy Child: Someone once observed that spirituality awakens when we are alone in Nature. Both Justine and I experienced a true awakening of spirit at our farm. Our summer and autumn of magic – deep in the forest of the Catskills – segued into a winter of magic on our farm. We settled in, played and read garden catalogs. Until, finally, it was spring, time to plant! Time to frolic! Time for the fairy gates to open.

Hollister Hill – School Child: Justine and her second favorite person in the world, her kindergarten teacher. While I loved living at the edge of civilization – but not so far away that I couldn’t get ice cream ten minutes away in Delhi – I thought Justine needed company her own age. So I drove her to a lovely kindergarten in Oneonta, about an hour away. While she played, I drew and looked at weeds and read about herbal medicine. I felt myself settling into my new home and new patterns, and nothing had ever felt quite so right.

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