Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise. – Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It
Where there is no vision, there is no hope. – George Washington Carver
From the first time that we looked at the property, we have had a “vision”. Some would call it a hallucination. After all, Privet Hedge fronted the house on three sides, and everyone of the outbuildings was in disrepair. Friends said that this would be a life sentence – and that was the nicer things being said.
There are few days that go by that the nagging doubt that those who see this, and have said that this is a lost cause, are right. Lots of well meaning people will share with you reasons that your hopes will fail.
There are plenty of posts in blogs all around the web about facing down fears, and chasing dreams. I won’t add one more post to that litany, except to say the best medicine for those naysaying voices in your head, is to go out and do it.
Today we planted the first beds. 600 Black Eyed Susan’s. Beds A1, and A2. 4 foot wide by 20 foot long.
This is another step in our farming journey.
Can you see it?
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