Tom Stock has been involved in the Long Island environmental and outdoor education community for decades.
He has published two books; THE NISSEQUOGUE RIVER: A JOURNEY and HIDDEN AGENDA; A POETRY JOURNEY. He has also published many essays and poems in such journals as the Long Island Forum and The Long Islander.
In an open, brown field,
Dark brown from recent rain.
Furrows run north-south.
It rests in early November
From roots that have sucked its fertility.
I stand in its center,
Look in all directions,
Feel feet sink into its softness.
This triggers a longing
To return to the garden
To press two fingers against thumb,
Push them into the dirt,
See if it is dry enough
To transplant, make furrows, dibble holes
Rake, cultivate, fertilize;
Plant, weed, harvest.
(Title from the 2nd movement of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony)
Even as I leave the car
And walk across the lawn
I can feel the difference
There are open views
Garden beds
A long line of maples
The drama of clouds
There is instant palpable relief here
I have entered Homecoming Farm
An oasis in North Amityville
Where Dominican Nuns
Live with ravens
The stress of driving here is gone
Small problems remain in the parking lot
I hear faint conversations of two women
Weeding the leek bed.
I see the produce ready for pick up
The volunteers are smiling, laughing,
Everyone seems at ease
Although the farm is a remnant of what one was
A patchwork quilt of farms a century ago
The Dominicans are keeping the tradition
Of growing, healthy, organic food
And cultivating cheerful feelings
Nancy and I weeded an onion bed. Weeds crowded right up the blue-green stalks. It was difficult weeding. I developed a technique that worked for me. I nimbly fingered my way through the weeds until I touched the onion stalk. Then I grasped a handful of weeds and yanked. The soil was wet and the weeds took a good chunk of soil with them. It was slow going.
The sky was cloudy and the temperature 70 degrees with a moderate wind from the west. It was comfortable yet a bit chilly. Steve was the dedicated mower guy. He’s gotten this job by doing it week by week. Keeping “weed pressure” at bay is the primary task of the work/share crew. All told, there are 70 people involved with the farm. Nancy and I are scheduled for the Tuesday pickup.
Don asked me to join the garlic crew. We were situated at a table just outside the garlic shed. The crew included Mitch, Jonathan, me, Jane Ann, and Ana. We have many crates yet to process. We were clipping off the stalks and roots and removing the outer layer of thin tissue. Don came by to check up “Don’t clean all the tissues. No one wants them.”
Don related his “I saved a rabbit story.” “I was moving one of the fallow plots when a rabbit crossed my path and jumped out onto the open lawn. Just then, a hawk swooped down to attack. I interfered and the hawk flew off. I saved a rabbit.”
I have designated Nella as “Queen of the Herb/Flower Garden.” I’ve seen her there several times. The two gardens are taking shape with her weeding. “I found a skeleton” she said. She showed me the spot. I lifted the skull. It was a rabbit. Magnificent large white lilies are in bloom.
Our share included okra, beets, kale, Japanese turnip, garlic, eggplant, cucumber, garlic scapes, and hot peppers. There is no better place to be than out in the open air with a community of wonderful, like minded people.
Women in white dancing
Long, light, fleecy gowns
Twirls, swirls,
Spins, and swings
In a dim basement
We watch from the sidelines
They float in space
Flakes in a snow shower
Dancing on a dark floor
A dozen of them
A ballet of white
Rising and falling
I in white stockings
Graceful, flying
A mirage, a dream
Float, and join, and part
Infant Earth birthed Her first cloud
After waiting millions of years
For Her hot steam to escape a cooling globe.
Finally, Her vapors condensed into droplets.
Forming a thick, solid cloud layer
Completely shrouding Her body
Like a naked woman,
Who, surprised by an intruder, robes in modesty.
Dragonflies dangle above the shoreline
An osprey is silhouetted near its’ island nest
A nearly full moon pushes over the tree line
Two bull frogs duet nearby
Adult loon leads her young
On a mat of fog suspended over the water
I sit on the bank surrounded by silence
At Moss Lake in the Adirondacks
Be surrounded
With tolerable information
White interior of a cloud
Insulated from news broadcasts,
Cell phone interruptions,
Instant messages on i-pad
Sprawled on a rock
In West Canada Creek
In the Southern Adirondacks
Rapids rush, rapids gush
Hands and feet in current
I drift in and out of ecstasy
Time seems suspended
I wait for a vision
The water sings to me
“Embrace your faults.
Accept them.
They are part of you.”
On this turtle-back rock
I revel in this healing gesture
A stream washes and cleanses
A man shouts from his truck
“Are you all right?”
I assure him with an arm gesture
The sunlight
Clouds barge across
I’m in paradise
If it’s wilderness we’re after
At least the sound of it,
Play the loon tape.
A forest and lake in the foreground
Hides a shopping center
Play the loon tape
Thick woods a’yonder
Vapor trails a’skyward
Play the loon tape
Starry moonless night.
Amusement park light pollution
Play the loon tape
Waterfalls in the Five Pond Wilderness
Acid rain, overflowing landfills
Play the loon tape
With every watery scene,
When wild sounds are needed
Filmmakers play the loon tape.
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