My year in Ireland is over and I’m in Canada. I’m working on a farm. Everyday I wake up early to feed the animals: chickens and chicks, pigs and cows grazing across the road. I spend 20 minutes in the pasture waiting for the water barrel to fill up. In the horizon I can see the blue line of the sky fighting with the deep green of the field. Almost no clouds. I then walk to the field to begin my daily chores: weeding to protect the carrots, the pretty little clover lost in the invasive grass or the peas up with their little swords and thinning to let the beets, parsnips and rutabaga grow large enough to be harvested. The rest of the time, I enjoy cleaning the pig pen, tidying the barn, carrying around tools such as shovels, hoes, rakes, pitch forks, and wheel barrows here and there, everywhere. Then more weeding, sometimes by hand, other times with the hoe or the wheel hoe, standing up, sitting in the aisle, bending, with two arms in the effort, the hands in the earth. For sure  I’m doing organic farming!

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