He only had to say one word: “Divorce.”
Our family crumbled. Our farm and future collapsed. My whole being
“We’ve grown apart.”
Geez, I thought we were growing children into young adults. A family.
A quaint, local market for our retirement years. Growing Easter
chicks into laying hens. Growing Poona Kheera cucumbers, St. Pierre
tomatoes, Music amd Maxatawny garlic, and red, white, and blue
potatoes. Rainbow carrots, Bright Lights chard, and purple, yellow
and green beans. Strawberries, elderberries, currants, blackberries,
Asian pears, and still waiting on the pawpaws and quince. Oh, the
pawpaws and quince. Jerusalem artichokes, Belgian endive, loofa
sponges, lavender wands, and lovage straws. Zinnias, sunflowers,
climbing nasturtiums, and naked ladies. Dill for pickles, basil for
pesto, and rosemary for remembrance. Remembrance.
Over the years, these Fleur-de-Lys Farm newsletters have come easy.
Often, they have written themselves as I pulled foxtail grass or
pigweed, trying to keep optimism in the forefront. This one was
different. Frankly, I haven’t known quite how to write it but I do
know that now is the time. None of us can predict what happens from
one day to the next, but plan, we must. I hope to continue Fleur-de-
Lys Farm Market until the end of the year. And, I will continue this
newsletter, until . well, as long as there are rosy stories to share.
But even if Fleur-de-Lys Farm soil isn’t in or under my boots, it
will flourish in my mind and my heart. As will the cast of characters
over the years: the Cousin Campers, Allentown-Coplay friends/family,
Celso, Bob and Jorga, Tweet and Tim, Cousin Rebecca and Aunt France,
the Local Yolk*els, the tree huggers and Easter Peeple. Mr.
Parrothead, Milton from Brooklyn, Joyce and Kim, Ruth E. and Ruthie,
the Flounders, Paul from Easton, Dino Italiano, and TH Rich.
Meredith, Valerie, Ginny, Vanessa, Linda, Joanne, Amanda, Josh,
Denise, Adrienne, and so many others. DebZ, Sonnema and pa, Sister K
and the Faithfuls, the sorority girls, the newbies, like Jen and
Destiny, and all my little friends who help gather eggs from the
nesting boxes on hen hill and giggle when the roosters crow.
You all have my sincere gratitude. It has been a pleasure to grow
with you and for you. Laurie Lynch