One day last week I found myself in a taxi rushing through peak, city, lunch time traffic on the way to an appointment. Actually rushing is probably the wrong word to use because although I was in a rush to get there on time, the streets were crazy busy and we weren't going anywhere fast.
I felt good though, happy to have escaped the farm for a while.
But we were stuck in traffic, so we started chatting, the taxi driver and I.
He told me of his family back in India and of how poor his village was. He told me how he and his brother had come out here to Australia seven years ago to seek their fortune and how they had spent six of those seven years working in an Indian restaurant. And he told me of his dream to get out of the city, away from the traffic and the hustle and bustle and live a quiet life in the country.
And then he asked about my life. Where I live, what life was like here and what it was like to be an organic farmer. It sounds beautiful he told me. Like a wonderful life. Like an easy life. Is it?
And at that moment, sitting there in that taxi in my city clothes and city shoes, with people and cars and buildings all around me, my life back home looked pretty sweet.
For a second I forgot all about the constant irrigation issues, the squawking of the fire scanner on farmer Bren's tool belt, his stained and rough hands, the weeds, the endless to-do lists, the fire-prep, the little bits of black spot on the apples, the troublesome dog, my fear of snakes, the stink of the sea-weed spray and the foxes.
And instead I remembered the incredible beauty of our farm at the moment. The green and luscious look of the veggie garden, the tiny apples, and plums and quinces, the water lilies on the house dam, the sound of the banjo frogs, how happy the chooks look in the orchards, our amazing customers, the twilight walks, the taste of our certified organic freshly grown produce and how proud my farmer boy is of his compost.
And I told him that no, it isn't exactly an easy life but it sure is a beautiful one. One that we are very proud of and are grateful to be living.
And then I felt a bit desperate to get home. And I think he felt something similar because he asked me a lot of questions about the three Indian restaurants in our town.
I wonder if I'd recognise him if I saw him down the street one day.
It'd be nice to thank him for reminding me that there's no place like home, prickly, overgrown blackberry bushes and all. Gosh it is a wonderful life and we are so terribly lucky.
Are you having a lovely weekend?
Are you loving where you're living?
Sometimes do you need a stranger to remind you?
I'm off to supervise Miss Indi's lava lamp making and then to check out the elevator being made by the others in the shed.
I hope you have the best week EVER!!