feeling outpaced

A week away from the farm, and nothing is as I left it. The fall kales and collards, just wee little things in my memory, are now big and tasty, their blue-gray leaves the size of dinner plates. Arugula, a spicy old friend whom we haven't seen since spring, is unbelievably back. Corn was a novelty before a week of vacation but will soon be over for the season. The tomato plants, once spewing fruit faster than we could pick it, are starting their decline.

Just a few weeks ago, the crew was consumed with trying to tie all the tomatoes before their growth overran us. Today, many of the plants are dead or dying, all brown and crinkley like autumn leaves left too long on the ground. Change is sudden: One job, seemingly impossible in scale and urgency, takes the place of another, equally pressing. And before your eyes, the landscape shifts. Crops germinate, wage battles with weeds, then get cultivated, harvested, and finally tilled under, when they disappear completely, taking with them your sense of direction.

My landmarks are gone. Muscles are sore. Summer is ending.