I had a lovely Labor Day; I spent it at an organic farm just south of Portland, in the heart of wine and farm country. My cousin and his girlfriend work as interns there, and for the weekend I was able to see how they have been spending their summer.
The farm has been around since the 1880s, passed down through generations, and life there is simple and wonderful. We fed the pigs, chased the sheep, picked pears from the orchard, searched for eggs in the chicken coop, wrangled baby turkeys, milked the goats, picked berries, harvested vegetables from the gardens, groomed the horses, listened to bluegrass music, sat by a massive bonfire, and watched the sun set from a gorgeous, wrap-around porch that has seen its share of the ages.
I could have spent a month there just taking pictures. Everywhere I turned, there was something beautiful and ancient waiting to be photographed in the changing light. The weather was beautiful, and time seemed to slow down all around us as we watched the hours pass in the simplest of ways.
Everything about the farm is centered around harmony, teamwork and a communal sense of family. It reminded me of my days working tall ships: many people working for the greater cause, surrounded by the beauty of nature, with no need in the world other than food, shelter and a warm bed. Everything else suddenly becomes less important. Beautiful, beautiful.
