For a few years now, I’ve learned to sit down, shut up and listen. I do that for a bit, then I write.

I Know These Woods

I Know These Woods

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His castle is in Middlesex though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My burro must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have a farm to find,

And cows to milk before I sleep,

And cows to milk before I sleep.

"Every day working, you just eat, rest, and the work waits for you. It’s a little hard, it’s not easy, but, well, our thought is that it’s worth the pain to suffer a few years to have something." - Vermont Dairy Farmer

Go check out The Golden Cage Project. Humans need your help.

The Call: https://www.c-span.org/video/?312277-1/immigration-policy-agriculture-labor&start=74

Maine Winter 019.JPG
This Land

This Land

The Call

The Call