WELCOME TO THE HAPPY FARM SERIES
A Voice From the Mist
John hates going to market
Pulling my windbreaker closer to my body, I braved the elements to go to my garden for a bit of lemongrass and basil for tea. It was early morning. Tea was early morning cleansing and connecting. My coffee later, that was for getting it on.
Yeah. It has been some cold weather in these parts. Cold for us, is bath suit and beach for others but I was cold. It has been raining on and off since October and we are in the new year now. We have not had so much rain a December since 2012 or so. Maybe Mavis…err Adele knows what she was talking about with that Climate Change thing……
My thoughts went back to John and our recent conversation. I had invited him to our community Christmas lunch but he refused, gracefully.
“Nah, Nah, I good, thanks man,” was his response, making a brushing action with his hand as if my inviting him was an annoyance.
“I plan to clean out dat patch over there and put some more dasheen and a few silk banana suckers. People like silk fig nowadays. I do get it sell good in de market.”
“You do go market, from when?”
John had the face that you would take one look at and go to the next stall to buy your sweet potato. He did not smile, he maintained this scowl as he sat over his mountain of produce.
I tired tell John, you scaring away the customers, literally.
He would look at me and deepen the lines running down his forehead.
“I can’t tek on dis stand-and-sell thing, I want drop off my stuff and go; I never did like going to the market. I could be on my farm doing something else.”
I nodded in agreement. Maybe something else in the system I left some moons ago needed adjusting.
“Plus, I prefer being up here with me and me. I can cool and meditate and feel good. I feel the good presence up here, man. All kinda presence. The good and a few bad vibes but I can deal with them when they come.”
My eyes grew large. I had a flash back to my youth and a friend of my parents named Dave. He died some time ago. He had a love affair with alcohol and telling Jumbie Stories.
“Don’t tell me you have some jumbie story to tell me, John.”
“Well just last night, I was there cooling, having a little smoke. The sky was brilliant. Stars upon stars. Planets you can see wid no scope, I was one with everyting.”
Until I heard, “wid everything but not wid me,” coming from that Bayleaf tree over there.