The tractor engine was running. I pulled on Mrs. Marsh’s farm boots and slipped into one of her rain coats. My dad cuddled Eloise on the first hay bale; Isaac—still mid-meltdown—clung to my mom. I sat in between, Mrs. Marsh sat in the back, and Mr. Marsh pushed the tractor into gear.
Our hayride circled the alpaca fields, came out to the main road, then tracked back across the soaked hillside along Dynamite Pond and back where deer come out of the forest to graze. On top of the hay bales, we were suspended between the mist clinging to the long grass below and the branches of 100-year-old trees above. There’s probably an analogy about life in there somewhere.
My dad gave Eloise his hat to keep the rain out of her eyes, and my mom held a coat over Isaac’s head. It was the coziest. Misty, 50-something degrees. Add a cup of spiced apple cider and the June evening could have been fall. The hay ride was a complete hit, especially with my son, who continued to talk about the tractor and ride for DAYS.
Back at the 180-year-old farm house, Mrs. Marsh popped corn and served up some dark toast topped with broiled horseradish and sharp cheddar from a local creamery, while my parents showed off their bananagram skills.
I felt constantly amazed at the history of the house: it’s been in Mrs. Marsh’s family for six generations. She listed off all the animals that had been raised and farmed over the years. Our families met in New Jersey in the 80s, and even then the Marshes knew they’d return to Theresa one day to farm alpacas.
My family (and maybe Houston in general) is more nomadic, and seeing history, roots, family all connected to a place is a totally different concept to me, especially from how I live now. I want to know the whole story of the farm—what happened where, and when.
But what’s happening now is this: alpacas. They were shorn a month before we visited, and yes sir, yes sir, lots of bags full of alpaca fleeces were ready for sorting and spinning. The Marshes send it off to a guild that takes New York alpaca fiber, spins it, and turns it into New York alpaca products: soft, earthy, heather-colored yarn; socks; headbands; etc. Look for mine when the season changes!
When the weather is right and Chris is gone to sea, I’m going to cozy up in my alpaca socks, enjoy some apple cider and sharp cheddar, and write the stories of Home Again Farm. Because, after all the adventuring and all the work, doesn’t everyone want to go home again?
Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Marsh!!
Note: What’s the difference between a llama and an alpaca? Alpacas are half the size of llamas and twice as cute. Their coats are softer, too. Did I mention how cute they are? They are so cute.
Final Note: Speaking of cute, you may notice that Eloise really took to Mr. Marsh. She sat with him at church and hung on to him when she got some alpaca kisses!
Torpedo Drop
Baht to Japan
Day Seven
Alarm Clock