Say my name!

During my short stint at Eigensinn, there was always a veil of mystery around the other interns who would form our team for the summer. The owners never seemed to know the names of those who they had accepted to come and work (volunteer) for them and as they were staggered over two months, start dates were also a bit of a guessing game. We knew that the last intern to arrive was male, but the owners couldn't remember his name, except that it started with G and was followed by a regular name. One day after a little brainstorming, another intern supposed that his name was Gwayne (G + Wayne) and it stuck. We mused about Gwayne and wondered where he was from and what he was like. Eventually we forgot that this was just a guess until he appeared one day and introduced himself as Glynn. Close, but no cigar. Of course the wife still couldn't get it straight and referred to him as Flynn for the entirety of his fleeting stay at the farm. Like me, he escaped, only lasting two weeks. Maybe there was a part of him that just wanted to go where everybody knows your name.

Though it had similar 'blind farm date' qualities, my arrival at Sucrest Gardens Farm in Wisconsin was the total opposite of that experience. My first day was filled with pizza night prep and by 4:30 we were in full swing: rolling out dough, dressing them up and flying pizzas into the wood-fire oven. I was quickly welcomed in to the team and over the course of the night several people - CSA members, family and friends - introduced themselves to me. "You must be Jen! From Canada, right?" 

My friend from France, Carlos Toneloc, modelling his Canadian Girls Kick Ass tank top. I gifted it to him about four years ago. Too bad, as it would have been the perfect uniform for my American farm tour.