Ort Farm

3 Dec 2005 Long Valley, N.J.

A flock of Canadian Geese fly over. I have to look. There is no choice. They speak about things my heart knows, but my flesh is still learning. One snow white goose is near the front. For so many years I have watched geese and never seen this. It is a flag I can not interpret. My face is a large smile.
Entering the store, cold and woodsmoke are running in circles out from my clothes, greeting everyone like spirit dogs from my adventure. No one speaks about it, but my smell is everywhere. It is in my eyes that this smell belongs to me. Come summer it may turn sour. Right now I smell like my grandfather. It a gift from the walk, and I hold it out like a new watch.

Heather runs the desk.She is grouping red ribbon into bows for grave blankets, and wreaths. Her eyes are the blue of the sky on a cold winter day. Her voice is approachable. In a few words she reminds me of the power of a pretty woman. We talk about old cars, and my love for vintage Airstreams. There is no goal. There is no want. We are talking, and I am losing the void that comes up from my belly when I am alone too long.

The cup of cider I am given is pie in a cup. When it is gone I am given another, then cake, apples, coffee, and two beers. Harvey Ort runs the show, and he is a kind and generous man. He is not an ego drive. Harvey is a fall day that moves through your fingers and is gone. We talked for a long time about bears sleeping, waking, being a farmer...and of course, the weather. I liked Harvey straight away. It is easy to like people liking life. It is impossible to love somebody loving life when you hate your own. I am glad I am on this road. Just before I met Harvey; indeed, why I met Harvey is because I was thinking of Hodges Farm back in New England, and how glorious that family was to me. They were family. With that thought, and the new snow,I followed the white fences dotted with wreaths down Rt.513 until I saw Ort Farm signs, in Long Valley.
There is no greater love than to watch an older man cut apple nut cake for a stranger with his multi-tool. It is hard to be a man, and show grace to those we don't know. It is so easy not too. I drank the cold beers against the covered wagon in the field across the street to save weight. I hoped that it would make my feet lighter. The cake drank the beer in my belly. I was just left having to pee.

I don't know Harvey's religion. I do know that when the bears had me tired in the mountains, and my heart wouldn't let me sleep, I went to a church that had many big signs by the road spilled with words about God and love. I handed my card to the woman inside, explaining what I was doing. Darkness was falling fast, and I was tired, and homes just kept coming up as I walked. We talked for a moment. I asked permission to sleep in the woods by their congregation. She made a quick call, and came back with a stern no, as she pushed my card back at me. It is easier to pray in a clean building then it is to extend a hand in real life. I think it was Sunday when I met Harvey.