"We laugh to remind ourselves that we are not machines. . . Laughter is our very protest against a tragic world. . . ."

So much happens in just a few days around here. We have co-mingled lives and they are heavy and poignant. So much happens.

The Beehive Collective came, represented by David. The turn out was small at the actual presentation but the experience was perfect and I think enough people came. Our little knot of individuals sat close and nodded vigorously. My sister, brother, and his girlfriend came down. I don't think that they actually enjoyed or agreed very much at all, but it was nice to see them and, actually, kind of nice to have a dissenting voice. Later, David wandered Waco. We showed him the farm and he spent a while talking with our village store interns who were really excited about selling posters and things. This is good. After that, TJ took him out to the remains of the branch davidians, who are apparently living and well. And fascinating.

THEN, we all met at Bangkok (the favorite restaurant), all thirty of us, and waited for Justin to show up with Jessica which he did. And then he proposed. And they are engaged. And we all celebrated with dinner. And good times.

Then, I met up with my new friend Matt for what, it turns out, was our first date. Or something similar. I am pondering this new situation.

Then! I got a text message very early this morning saying my best friend had just gone into labor with her first child. No word yet on that one. I've heard these things can take time. But, ideally, by tonight we will have a new baby boy to celebrate.

This has been a heavy, busy two days and it promises to be a similarly crazy weekend.

Life! We are living.

Gillian and I make on hell of a team

I am preparing for moving off the farm. Jessica and I signed a lease and we move into our new house, which is beautiful, on the 15th. After all the up-in-the-airness and indecision it is nice to have a plan that I am happy in and with. However... I am leaving the farm.

People always ask me what I am planning on doing next, and I am always saying that I don't know, or lying and saying that I am planning on going to school. Maybe thats not a lie, or not always a lie, but it feels like one right now. This reoccurring question and answer session has led me to the realization that in this farm and these people I have found the fulfillment of most of my dreams and desires.

The sky in Texas is immense and during the change over between seasons (spring and fall being change overs more than seasons here) there is nothing stopping the big, burly wind from shouldering its way down our farm lane. It blusters here. The wind dances crazily around your ears and through the leaves of that one amazing cottonwood until all you can hear is ocean waves and you forget that you are in the middle of the prairie.

We all sit outside on the grass. Someone (probably David) pulls out a frizbee and starts tossing it around. Communal, non-competitive sports. We sprawl, barefooted and tan, laughing at Toby, coaxing Elliana to walk from one set of arms to another. We cut each others hair. Eventually, as the sun begins its lazy decent the guitar is brought out only to be monopolized by Toby's awkward, not quite three-year olds arms. The skies blue sinks into orange, the orange into pink, the pink into purple, and the purple into a velvety black, blanketed with stars.
"Its amazing how clear the sky is even though the highway is just over there."
"This farm is magic."

Dear World Hunger Relief,
For all the hours of sunshine; for the patience to walk along side me as I grew; for the enlightenment and encouragment; for every hour of earned sleep and every bite of earned food; for the breaking down of numerous walls and the building up of uncountable strengths; for being the best model of heaven I have yet encountered; for the creation of best friends; for biceps and hamstrings; for lentils and quinoa; for these past nine months;
thank you.