Preface
In five days, I will have been here, Covered Bridge Produce, for two months. A few days ago when I realized that, it was a staggaring notion. I wish I had started writing when I first arrived, and that I would now be able to look back and see the all the growth that isn't visible in the fields. As it is now, I'll have to see if my retro-speculation will do the past months justice.
When I arrived, I was the second intern. Sarajane had shown up four days prior and settled in to the room beside mine, at the top of the stairs above Joseph's kitchen. The farm was hardly like I'd expected, but for the first week or two I was too smitten to care. Before finding his calling of organic farming, Joseph was a college math professor and a very litterary person. From speaking to him and knowing his past, the picture I had established in my mind of his house involved many stark modern colors and a variety of large cosy arm chairs residing in each of his many libraries. I knew it was an old farmhouse before I arrived, and life in Los Angeles put me into a very Architectural Digest state of mind. Hard wood floors, big free-standing bathtubs, wood stoves--these were all things I was very excited about, and not, however, what I found. About three weeks into my internship I started becoming obsessed with the layers of dirt sometimes more than a quarter inch thick, the clutter, the mouse problem, the the clutter, the hardwood floors that seemed far too unstable, and lord! the clutter. A couple weeks later Sarajane and I had the intern kitchen in the downstairs of the barn fully functional and semi-cosy. Nora, the field manager, also moved in, as well as Joseph's carpenter friend from Kentucky. Kevin was building us four bathrooms in the barn, consisting of two composting toilets and two showers--a project that was predetermined to take two weeks. One month later, he left. In that time two more interns arrived, Ned and Tracy, and Sarajane moved out into an intern cabin as the temperatures rose from the chilly 60's of April, to the boiling 90's of late May.
When I arrived, I was the second intern. Sarajane had shown up four days prior and settled in to the room beside mine, at the top of the stairs above Joseph's kitchen. The farm was hardly like I'd expected, but for the first week or two I was too smitten to care. Before finding his calling of organic farming, Joseph was a college math professor and a very litterary person. From speaking to him and knowing his past, the picture I had established in my mind of his house involved many stark modern colors and a variety of large cosy arm chairs residing in each of his many libraries. I knew it was an old farmhouse before I arrived, and life in Los Angeles put me into a very Architectural Digest state of mind. Hard wood floors, big free-standing bathtubs, wood stoves--these were all things I was very excited about, and not, however, what I found. About three weeks into my internship I started becoming obsessed with the layers of dirt sometimes more than a quarter inch thick, the clutter, the mouse problem, the the clutter, the hardwood floors that seemed far too unstable, and lord! the clutter. A couple weeks later Sarajane and I had the intern kitchen in the downstairs of the barn fully functional and semi-cosy. Nora, the field manager, also moved in, as well as Joseph's carpenter friend from Kentucky. Kevin was building us four bathrooms in the barn, consisting of two composting toilets and two showers--a project that was predetermined to take two weeks. One month later, he left. In that time two more interns arrived, Ned and Tracy, and Sarajane moved out into an intern cabin as the temperatures rose from the chilly 60's of April, to the boiling 90's of late May.
