It is overcast on the farm. People are
commenting on the cold- it is 65 degrees (it's all relative.)
I awoke from my peaceful sleep to
men's voices yelling. How strange on our peaceful, utopian Farm. I
grabbed Masaba coffee from the nook and headed down the fruit
orchard. Four mighty oxen with intimidating horns were plowing a
field with one man working the plow and the other using a switch to
guide the bovine team, who were the reluctant recipients of switch
and sharp commands. In contrast the hulking tractor sat in the barn.
A highlight was Mariel's picking of passion fruit for us, cutting
them open and digging into their sweet contents-black seeds and all.
A 16-year-old boy Dennis joined our school. He had only smiled when I
addressed him previously, but I delightfully discover that he writes
and speaks some English-so he is joining our fast-paced train of
adverbs, tenses and reading comprehension. Heather R.
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