This is not Mongolia, nor is it the Dominican Republic. It is not the Andes in Peru with Machu Picchu and riding a horse 2,000 feet on the mountain side, risking life. It is not the Ganges in India, brown with defecation and bad sewers, where people pray, chants from Buddhists, burial ceremonies praying to be reborn into a better life, this is not a place people come to pray or to die. This is not Jeju-Do, tropical island, fishing villages, women divers, the best fish, the best gardens, the most beautiful waters, black rock, blue waters, the yummiest pork to fill our bellies, climbing mountains to reach the most vivacious temples, watching green tea grow, trying any spice you have ever desired, and fully clothed swimmers in the ocean, quite a sight to see, this is not Jeju-Do. This is not Daulutpura, rice paddy village in the Punjab, where children pick pomegranates, run with a soccer ball, sleep on the rooftop, pump their own water, eat dinner together, women cook, conversation, love, pride, dance, smile, celebrate the season, and foreigners rarely come to visit. So many places I have been and so many memories I have made, and such quaint charm. This may not be a foreign country I have visited or lived in, but this is my home away from home in Brooklyn, and Plum Pickens is happier than hell to be staying on Steep Hill Farm.
All you can see is red and blue
Red ripe raspberries, blue bold blueberries
Fruit so ready, it falls into the palm of your hands
Fruit so sweet and juicy that remnants drip from the side of your mouth in ecstasy
Wake up in the morning
Brew coffee, take a sip, sit down, and plan out the day
Check coffee, next
A nice, calm mountain run
The view matters, mountain flowers in full bloom’
Deer and bear tracks
Fresh cut grass smell
Light breeze upon my face
This is the place I dream of
The pound and patter of my feet on the earth
Sounds of cardinals, blue jays, branches blowing
Picking time
Raspberries, sweet and tart
Briars, must pull the raspberry bushes apart
Grainy, but so welcome in my mouth
These berries make me want to scream and shout
Everywhere I look there’s a deep red robust raspberry
This place could never make my heart feel weary
I am not 10,000 feet in the Himalayans camping with the gray monkeys, praying in temples with Buddhist monks in Shimla or Manali. I am not bowing on my knees, picking the ripest plums, peaches, nectarines. There, colors spread throughout the mountains, resembling a rainbow, plethora of natural beauty and I am not dancing to the best doomachali one has ever heard, wearing Indian garb, and speaking Hindi. I have not arrived on the beaches of Rincoln, driving through the mountainside of Puerto Rico without guardrails, staring at the deepest green-blue ocean eyes have ever met. I am not there on white sandy beaches, 13 foot waves, where surfers come from around the world to experience the best Rincoln has to offer, riding a long board, dreaming of you. I am not on bioluminescent waters, shining, glowing, calling your name, coral so beautiful one could admire for hours, rowing, and taking a dip while glowing like a lightning bug. I am not in San Juan, with San Sebastian, one of the world’s most sought out art festivals, seeing artists’ imaginations come to life on canvas, jewelry, sandstone, graphite pencils, woodworking, glass blowing, and so much more.
Here, I hear children’s laughter for miles. Here, I see my little sister growing into a young woman, appreciating and relishing every moment spent. On steep hill farm, where one picks blueberries, raspberries, black raspberries, blackberries, plums, peaches…In an hour, five quarts have been picked and that’s only one pick of the two pick day. On steep hill farm, we listen to Fleetwood Mac, Bon Iver, Led Zepplin, the Doors, and anything that is calming, soothing, has a good beat with great lyrics. We drink strong coffee, smile, read, write, play ball, enjoy the view. Here, it is my type of heaven, it is my type of safety, security. Nothing comes before family and I am lucky. I am lucky to be so close, so free with my family. I am lucky to have such wonderful siblings, the best father a daughter could ever ask for, here the door is open. Getting a loving smile from my sister and reading a book to my youngest niece. All in a day’s desires because this could never be work, never.
