ABSTRACT
After my internship at Stony Brook ends, my friend Scott invites me to work with him on an organic farm in New Hampshire. The first day I arrive we pull 2,500 onions, thin beets, and harvest Brandywine tomatoes, trying to beat the ominous threat of rain. I find myself in the barn snipping onions at midnight for the farmer’s market at six the
next morning. Andre, the farmer, leases 200 acres situated on rolling green pastures surrounded by dense foliage. One morning I rise before those faint tinges of pink streak the sky and walk a mile up the narrow, gravel drive to midmeadow. Here tall sunflowers dance in the morning breeze, their heads swaying to a faint rhythm only they can hear. Sometimes after midnight when a full moon illuminates the fields, I sit in the open meadow and stargaze at the clear New England sky, a pinhole shade of eternal dots of light. The katydids, crickets, and cicadas serenade me, a beautiful, ethereal chorus.
