Poppy's Perspective

The rain continues. I awoke early this morning to crashing lightening, pouring rain, the expectation of another flood and the realization that no garden work would be accomplished today. We are officially late in planting our onions, peas, salad greens, cabbage, and broccoli. We did get a little greenhouse play in today however and plenty of spring season appreciation. It is beautiful out. Dutchman's britches, phlox, pale corydalis, and rose verbena are all in bloom, and the verdant nature of the season frames the blooming colors. Bats are already on the hunt and this evening welcomed back the whip-poor-will.
Richard, Huxley and I made an attempt at loading up the milk cow yesterday. Our luck was as good as mine has been lately at managing to get days off from work to coincide with soil dry enough for planting in. She was immediately onto our out of the ordinary intentions and was taking no chances of decreasing her quality of life. Who can blame her? She resides in a beautiful spot. She has access to a beautiful upland pasture, a short leaf pine forest, and a serene creek bottom full of limestone bluffs and wise looking sycamores.
The rain does have its benefits. It is filling the water table, making the shitakes bloom, and giving me an excuse to do some reading.
I've been rereading some old friends and making some new in preparation for an upcoming event at work. The subject matter encouraged my thoughts to align in a way that somewhat allows me to articulate a part of our relationship with the land here.
The subject is sacredness. What is it? One thing that it can not be is anything for which a price can be attached. What are those things? Obviously people and memories, but then it occurred to me that also the property which I grew up on. I do not own that property, my parents do, but if I did, it wouldn't be for sale period. Alisen and I have often discussed whether we would ever sell this place. It seems unfathomable. Our farm is becoming sacred. What else is sacred? Very few material possessions if any. However, a couple of weeks ago Alisen, Huxley and I found two arrowheads within days of each other. We have found many arrowheads here on this farm since we moved in. Every time I find one the first emotion to arise is sheer joy at the luck and pride of sharp eye. But then ,within an instant, I clasp it and realize that no one has held this tool since the maker and I feel a connection. The maker of the arrowhead found this land as favorable a place to live as I do. The maker of the arrowhead is gone but no matter how he may have changed the land, he left it in a condition which was favorable for its continued existence as a healthy, life supporting piece of ground. The arrowhead is a symbol of that, a religious symbol, and a sacred symbol.