Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Sequatchie Cove Farm


On my travels this summer, I spent a week at Sequatchie Cove Farm in Tennessee. From Boston, where I live, it takes twenty-two hours to drive there. I like that it takes time and effort, and a measure of discomfort to arrive at this beautiful, sequestered place. The 300-acre farm is ringed by the Cumberland Plateau and embraced by thousands of acres of forest. Little Sequatchie River, a cold stretch of water, runs through the woods beyond the vegetable fields and small meadows where the cows graze.


As I cross multiple state lines, and head south to the farm, I undergo a process of shedding. I leave behind my urban sounds and sights—neighbors walking their dogs on leashes, brownstones lining asphalt sidewalks, car horns and trolley bells dinging.

After two days in an air-conditioned car, speeding at 75 miles an hour, I enter a world that is covered with grass, acres of blueberry bushes, tomato plants, twigs, pebbles, river rocks, and sleeping dogs—unleashed—under the shade of big-leaf magnolias, pine and oak trees. My brother and sister-in-law’s house is made of river stone and wood. Giant slabs of granite steps lead to their front porch.

At the farm, my body shifts to a different pattern of movement and perceiving. My eyes relax, taking in long views of sky and mountains, and micro-views of honey bees. I breathe in dust and the smell of hay, cow pies, wood and leaves. Internal mechanisms that I’ve forgotten open up inside. My sense of time changes. In fact, time doesn’t seem to matter much. I do a lot of drifting and strolling.

At night, I lie on top of my bed sheets, floating on a mattress of darkness, the moist air bathing me in layers of heat. No air-conditioning here. The boundary that separates inside from out disappears. I am suspended in a universal dream. Moonlight casts shadows across fences and trees, and stirs up energy I didn’t know I harbored in my arms and legs. I’m buzzing in this state. I can’t fall asleep. I’m too busy being. The sound of cicadas and crickets is deafening, louder than Beethoven’s ninth symphony. Actually, it’s more than sound. It’s vibrations pulsing and ringing throughout the cove until everything—cows, pigs, dogs, chickens, cats, trees, beds and me—is throbbing like a single, supernatural heart.

At 4:30 in the morning, the rooster breaks this unified rhythm, calling out in ragged jerky notes. Its shout rips apart the night sky to let in glimmers of sunlight. I try to catch one more hour of sleep but am too excited. By 6 a.m. I’m dressed and walking down the path to my brother-in-law’s house fifty yards away for a cup of coffee. The cicadas have stopped their noise. In the silence, I hear my sneakers flicking through blades of dew soaked grass.

The cows are awake too. They see me moving across the field. I feel like a figment of their imagination, an odd figure whose purpose to them is unknown. As I stand in the kitchen, waiting for the French press to brew my coffee, the fields take on their daytime shapes. Colors begin to reappear: green and grey. Morning clouds slide away into the mountainside.

My time at Sequatchie Farm Cove has taught me that paradise is not bound to heaven. I can find pieces of it right here on Earth, where I am.

Where do you go to break up old patterns of living?

28 comments:

  1. Beautifully written.

    There's a campground where my husband's family -- now my family, too -- have been spending summer weekends for thirty-plus years. It's rustic, out of the way and not in any way glamorous from the outdoor toilets to the weedy, mucky, pondlike "lake."

    But every time I go, I can feel myself uncoil.

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  2. Kristina--love your uncoiling and the simple way you get there.

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  3. I have had those moments of complete joy in various places over time but what springs to mind is the sense of being completely "at home/at ease" with a few old friend, regardless of the setting. I will just suddenly realize that I am my most comfortable self as we are playing scrabble, cooking, singing or reading quietly in the same room.

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  4. Paula, so true.

    What I didn't mention in this post is that Sequatchie Cove Farm is run by two people I adore! My brother and sister-in-law are unique and caring individuals. I can relax and be myself with them in the best way. When you have people like that in your life, it creates a sense of home no matter where you are. I'm grateful for their friendship. Thanks for bringing that up.

    More about who they are in a future post.

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  5. Morning in the mountains is magical, isn't it? So glad you have this beautiful place. Totally worth the drive.

    I miss living in Virginia, surrounded by mountains. Need to find some new places to break up the old patterns of living. (Love that phrase.) Lunch in Cape Girardeau just doesn't cut it. :)

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  6. Hi, Laura. What part of Virginia? And what is Cape Girardeau? I'm intrigued.

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  7. Drat. Just lost my comment. Quick recap - love the photos, what a gorgeous farm!

    When we bought our little one, I think it broke up the pattern of most of my life before that. I rarely want to leave.

    (it's billie, the comment thing is being funky again!)

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  8. Hi, Billie (drat to the tech problem. Will look to see if anything changed since my computer fell apart last month).

    What made you go for the farm?

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  9. Stunning, Jessica. I love picturing you there. Do you have a photo of the house?

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  10. Hi, Tish.
    There are several houses on this property. We stayed in the "Studio," which is the wood structure hidden in the leaves in the photo with the dog.

    I slept in the bedroom to the far right corner of that structure as you're facing it.

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  11. We were boarding three horses and I was at the boarding barn most of every day (with my children) riding and taking care of our horses. It made sense financially and time-wise (and had been a lifelong dream of mine) to have the horses at home.

    I had no idea how much my life was going to change as a result. In a positive way.

    I used to get this feeling when I went to the mountains - a sort of zen-like peace and constant awareness of nature and its cycles.

    Now I have it every day.

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  12. Jessica,
    What a beautiful piece! I love your insight into breaking up patterns of living--that's an interesting and important concept. I am often reluctant to break up my patterns of living, but when I do I usually grow from it and enjoy it and wonder why I don't do it more often!
    Jennifer

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  13. Jennifer, Funny how we cling to our ruts when the very word 'rut' means stuck, trapped, caught. So we cling to our traps? Hmmmm. Thanks for stopping by!

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  14. I am still stuck on your question. (See, you've got me thinking!) In general, travel breaks up my POL, but I keep going back to something else: experiences that break up my patterns of thinking (POT) which I suppose relates to POL. I notice this when I go to museums. Concerts too. Neither of which I do often enough. I can stare at a painting or listen to a song and something happens. I get out of my rut, if only momentarily and go somewhere else, somewhere that makes me wonder---why don't I do this more often?

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  15. Western Virginia--the prettiest part!

    Cape Girardeau is a city on the Missouri side of the Mississippi, only 40 minutes from our house. Sometimes we escape there for lunch or dinner or a walk on the riverfront. It's nice to get out of town.

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  16. This is why I love writer's blogs, you caress your topics with such elegance and beauty. I used to go to the Pacific Northwest to experience heaven on earth, and after dreaming about it for decades I finally live here. It's still a piece of heaven to me. K.

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  17. Jennifer-you've got me laughing with your POL and POT's! When you've answered your question, come back and tell us.

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  18. Kerstin, congratulations! You went after your dream and now you're living it. Lucky woman.

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  19. Billie--honestly, how many people can say what you've said here--that you experience zen-like peace everyday? That's what I call success.

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  20. I have been dropping by for a while now, just haven't written. But this post touched my heart, the photos as much as the words. I could feel the peace and quiet, and later the rhythm of the night. You are gifted, my dear. Thank you for sharing this loveliness with us.

    Ancient Reader

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  21. Ancient Reader,
    Thank you for stepping out and leaving your lovely comment.

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  22. Envy. I've always wanted to see the mountains and sparsely populated areas on TN, and now that I've read this, I feel that I am missing out.

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  23. I've learned there are many, many beautiful places in the U.S. This is one of those many many.

    Would love to hear about one of yours.

    Jessica

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  24. great article. I would love to follow you on twitter.

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  25. Hi, Anonymous. Thanks for checking in.

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  26. You have tested it and writing form your personal experience or you find some information online?

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