headed out west in september and decided to visit with winona up in minnesota. the weather hummed with the promise of eternal warmth, and it seemed the goldenrod and aster had been blossoming for centuries~ not weeks.
that’s how it feels when a season’s about to end. the days before stretch out like salt water taffy on an ocean city boardwalk shoe.
every farm has a different feel, and as i pulled in with puppy spruce this place felt wild.
instead of discipline imposed by man, this felt like an inversion, where people came along side nature, and where upon occasion unbridled horses would surprise you with a lick on the shoulder.
lucky for us it was the thick of wild rice season which meant lots of pickups and el caminos on the white earth reservation had ricing canoes tied to the top. we drove around in a very old mercedes slated to run off of vegetable oil, and winona showed the project homes built back in the 70s as part of the war on poverty. some were boarded up, some run down but still lived in, and many were well maintained with breathtaking murals shouting out with color. shortly thereafter we picked up one of winona’s grandkids from school who was wholly unphased by the new person in the car filming her grandma.
back on farm, winona graciously offered a spare bedroom at the main house which was quickly accepted. it would be a couple nights before we actually went ricing and was a bit too excited- randomly texting friends and working the fact into almost every conversation…
to be continued.
best thoughts,
graham
