farm

My favourite road I've ever been on ain't paved.

To see the farm is to leave it.

This is what a place like this does to you. It makes you put words in the beaks of chickens.

In his imagination, he grabbed his dad by the throat and squeezed until an old mans face turned purple. No pleading, no begging, simply... nothing.

You would be much amused with the animals round the ranch.

Don't you want me to kiss you goodbye, sweetie?""Kiss a cow farm boy

The farm is a base of operations__ stronghold. You can withdraw into yourself there. Solitude for reflection is an essential ingredient in self-development. I think a person has to be withdrawn into himself to gather inspiration so that he is somebody when he comes out again among folks__hen he __omes to market_ with himself. He learns that he__ got to be almost wastefully alone.

Mark came home late one frozen Sunday carrying a bag of small, silver fish. They were smelts, locally known as icefish. He__ brought them at the store in the next town south, across from which a little village had sprung up on the ice of the lake, a collection of shacks with holes drilled in and around them. I__ seen the men going from the shore to the shacks on snowmobiles, six-packs of beer strapped on behind them like a half dozen miniature passengers. __it and rest,_ Mark said. ____ cooking._ He sautéed minced onion in our homemade butter, added a little handful of crushed, dried sage, and when the onion was translucent, he sprinkled n flour to make a roux, which he loosened with beer, in honor of the fishermen. He added cubed carrot, celery root, potato, and some stock, and then the fish, cut into pieces, and when they were all cooked through he poured in a whole morning milking__ worth of Delia__ yellow cream. Icefish chowder, rich and warm, eaten while sitting in Mark__ lap, my feet so close to the woodstove that steam came off my damp socks.

Reversing the historical trajectory of human eating, for this meal the forest would be feeding us again.