Starting in 2005, my sister Sally took over a small farm in northern Maryland, part of an inheritance from our parents. Sally had never farmed full-time before. Her lifelong interest in gardening was scant preparation for this late-middle-age career transition from more sedentary work. Especially the first few years, Sally struggled. She wanted to run the farm as a biodynamic one, paying special attention to the cycles of seasons, sun, and moon. Gradually, she got an acre or two into biodynamic production. She rented the rest of the land to nearby more conventional farmers. She built up a cadre of part-time volunteers. Her work was more than full-time, with scant occasions for the travel she had enjoyed earlier in her varied careers. Her internet access was spotty at best, so we kept in touch through phone calls and letters.
For a biodynamic farmer, “cross-quarter days” are especially important in deciding harvest and planting schedules: Halloween (Samhain), Groundhog Day (Imbolc), May Day (Beltane), and mid-summer, around August 1 (Lammas).
This November, I’m posting six years’ worth of cross-quarter day letters, through multiple changes in government, a global pandemic, and major changes in our respective personal circumstances. Please read along…
Sunday, August 1, 2021 (Lammas/Midsummer); from Jinny in San Diego, CA to Sally in Taneytown, MD
Dear Sal,
Happy Midsummer! We now live in a very different part of the country from when I last wrote. Most of May, 2021 went by in a blur. Though covid restrictions are easing somewhat, few places, either in the Raleigh vicinity or near our new place, are yet open for indoor dining. In San Diego, the libraries are still closed.
Before we left the Raleigh area, my cousin the realtor had found “good homes” for any remaining furnishings from our place that did not meet Goodwill’s requirements. I was glad most would not wind up in the landfill. Cousin George also handled completing the closing formalities on the townhouse in Cary while we started on the initial leg of our cross-country car trip. We left central North Carolina at midday on Friday, May 14. We’d opted to drive the trusty Yaris across the U.S. rather than boarding an airplane flight. We figured using automobile transportation would give us a bit more flexibility, avoid the cramped indoor spaces of a plane, and allow us to pick and choose overnight stays with friends or at hotels that seemed relatively low-pandemic-risk.
The first day, we headed generally northward, visiting friends in Charlottesville, VA before stopping for the night at a small inn in Appomattox, VA. The following day, we made a brief stop in Richmond, VA to visit with friends in the city where we’ve spent the most time during our lives so far. All those years ago, when we came to stay on the sofa bed in your first apartment in the Fan while Jim looked for a job, I bet you had little idea how long Richmond would hold us. Who would ever have expected that we would still be in Richmond long after you had moved back to Maryland?
Somewhere in Virginia on the second day of this trip, we spent a fair amount of time hunting for gasoline for the car—there had been a rupture in one of the regional oil pipelines, temporarily disrupting supplies. By evening, we arrived in Elkridge for a quick reunion with brother Bruce and some of the rest of the family. We mainly skirted controversial topics. You’d have been somewhat pleased at your elder sister’s self-restraint, I like to think. Sorry you couldn’t be there in person. Sister-in-law Wendy arranged an outdoor patio supper with some of the cousins at a former “biker bar.” Good burgers and fries all around. It was very good to see parts of the family one more time before our trek westward.
The following morning, we headed out before eight and made it to Scott and Morgan’s vicinity by early evening. We watched part of a local softball contest in Ada, OH. Morgan’s eldest daughter was playing, maybe even pitching, I’m not sure. We managed brief introductions with Morgan’s other children and with Morgan’s parents before our eyes glazed completely over, then excused ourselves and found a comfortable motel room in a nearby town. As we headed further into the Midwest, we became viscerally aware of the need for an “infrastructure bill” of some sort—the roads, even the interstates, were potholed and uneven. To add to the unpleasantness, it kept raining, a dreary, heavy drizzle.
Our next stop turned out to be something of a walk down memory lane for Jim—Muscatine, IA. Just across the Mississippi from Illinois, Muscatine had had its heyday at least a couple of generations ago. Jim’s dad had been born there in 1907. The downtown still had a “Batterson Building” sign on one of the three-story brick structures along the town’s main street. We took a picture. It’s quite possible that Muscatine had been a blip on our Mississippi trip itinerary, way back in 1973. If so, it didn’t seem to have changed a whole lot. In a park near the river, we noticed a statue of a fisherman and a plaque about the town’s former role as a pearl button manufacturing center. (Batterson family lore includes sometime mention of the “Batterson-Wessels Company—Wholesale Distributor of Buttons and Notions” co-founded by one of Jim’s great-grandfathers in 1899.)
We’d written ahead to friends in Omaha, NE and in Albuquerque, NM for stopovers—the two stays helped put some personal contact into the vastness of the center of the country. When we stayed elsewhere on our own, we noticed lots of variability in pandemic responses: In some towns, covid hardly seemed to register at all. People congregated unmasked and continued with the same patterns of socializing and business activities as before. In others, masking and distancing were scrupulously practiced. A fair number of businesses were closed, some permanently. As far as we could tell, the differences had more to do with local culture and customs than with infection rates or the severity of the disease’s impact.
By the time we left Albuquerque, we were ready for our travels to end. A final push from Yuma, AZ to San Diego brought us to our new place mid-afternoon on Tuesday, May 25, a couple of days sooner than originally planned. A hasty trip to a local hardware store got us a queen sized air mattress that would do for sleeping until the PODS arrived. Son Jason and Kelly lent us some sheets and towels. As May ended, the PODS had been delivered, its contents had been disgorged with considerable help from Jason and family, and Jim and Jinny were somewhat established in our new home.
Not long after we arrived, we heard on area news that if infection rates continued low, California would lift its covid restrictions in mid-June. That would indeed be good news. Not sure if it has happened or not—our media access so far is lousy. We’d welcome a visit sometime if you could manage one, but doubt it would be practical.
We’ve spent much of the remainder of the summer having minor repairs and upgrades done to the house, getting to know the area better, and getting officially established. It takes more time and effort than I’d realized to get “identifying information” reset to a different location—driver’s license, bank account, voting card, library access, health insurance, etc. etc. Most of the required changes have now been accomplished.
Today, somewhat fitting for midsummer’s day, I went to one of our area’s largest outdoor farmer’s markets, in La Jolla, the ritziest part of San Diego. I picked up a 3-pack container of berries—blueberries, strawberries, raspberries—seemingly available year-round here. I also got a few vegetables. Produce prices didn’t seem all that high, a relief. I’ll try to find a closer market, though. It took a good bit of gas to get to La Jolla and back.
Perhaps the most noticeable difference from NC here is the lack of rainfall. People tell us it will rain, come November or so, but the only moisture we’ve had so far is a brief thunderstorm around dawn one morning in July. Please take good care. Lots of virtual hugs!
Love, Jin
