A midsummers night dream…

I’ve been pretty fortunate in my life to have been graced by the presence of certain angels and mentors who have arrived at pivotal moments. I never seek them out directly, but when I trust my intuition and continue on the road of the unknown, they arrive to speak deep truths to my heart that I never knew I needed. One of these people is Andre, a Lebanese farmer whose parents found refuge in the foothills of Boulder, Colorado, after experiencing the destruction of their hometown during the Lebanese Civil War. He grew up tending to the land, cultivating a deep relationship with the seasons, animals, and the impact of his own stewardship.

Our paths crossed during my cross-country journey from Austin, Texas, to Northern California nearly a year into the global pandemic. As I searched for an Airbnb, I was intrigued by the idea of staying on a working farm, having spent much of my 20s working on permaculture farms, gardening, and developing an interest in regenerative agriculture. I asked Andre for a tour of the farm, and though I was scared I might be imposing, he gladly agreed and asked if I’d be interested in taking a horse ride

The fields were covered in a thick sheet of snow when I first saw Andre walk up, towering over me. His long, wiry beard gave way to soft, kind eyes like those of a young boy in love. His clothes were stained with motor oil, and his cowboy boots were worn, telling a story of their own lifetime, kicking through fields and stables, with creases where the toes might bend.

Andre first led me to a stable where a calf had been born. She had one leg shorter than all the rest, and there was concern that she might not live long. Yet, special care would be given to her to support her survival. If she could make it to six months, she should be stable enough to continue. Her coat was a brilliant deep red-brown with a single star between her wide, black pearl eyes. One of the horses had been kicked in the head by another horse, and Michael, another wild cowboy, helped stitch up the wound. I stood in awe of how two men could have such care for living beings—a true respect for the living, an innate understanding that these animals, too, were their kin.

Andre called over and asked, “Are you ready to ride?” With no saddle, just reins, Andre helped me mount the horse. My belly filled with butterflies at the power of the animal I now sat atop—a moment of disbelief. Andre mounted his own horse, and we rode through the fields. He spoke about the farm and his history with it until we got to a spot where he dismounted his horse. There was a field mouse that was nearly dead. Andre took off his jacket and wrapped the tiny animal inside it. It was well below freezing, and the sky was turning gray, but once again, Andre’s giving spirit and love of nature shone through his actions as he carried back the helpless creature to warmth.

Although I only stayed one night at the farm, I visited several times throughout my trip. Just a week later, most of the snow had melted, and Andre and I took a walk through the fields. This time, he asked me about what had brought me to Boulder. I told him things most people would never tell a stranger. I exposed vulnerabilities and the sense of feeling lost in a world that often felt overwhelming, as well as the miracle that beginning to recultivate a relationship with the land and travel had brought me. Learning that we could live in a regenerative rather than extractive way with the Earth gave me hope. It was beginning to instill in me a different way of making amends with the human experience and the challenges I felt living in a capitalistic and divided world. I found myself in tears as we sat on some broken trees that acted as benches, taking in the view of the mountains just miles away.

Since my first encounter with Andre, I have been met many times with such love and fondness from someone who didn’t really “know” me, yet each time I felt seen. Every time I met him, there was a type of embrace that felt like home—an unconditional love that I had only received from a few rare people in my life. Why is this hitting me now, the gratitude for the impact some make upon our lives? In the words of another mentor of mine- never hold back the love and brilliance you witness in another- you never know when your reflection might change their life forever.

Last night, I had a dream of driving past Jacob Springs Farm and seeing a long table decorated with flowers, ceramic plates, and food from the land. There was a celebration taking place, and I was a passerby. There was something of still feeling like an outsider looking in at the vibrancy and celebration of life. The rest of the world felt gray—a stark difference from the abundance displayed on the long linen lined tables. A testament to know that we can sense where true wealth lies- not in the mechanic rushing and high importance of the world - but the celebration of the Earth, community and all its blessings. When I awoke, my eyes swelled with tears at the gratitude for Andre’s kindness at a point in my life that felt so gray, when my own spirit remained a flicker in a body that felt so frail, fatigued by a suit of armor that I had been carrying for decades. It was Andre and a few other mentors in my life who allowed me to see that it could be safe to disarm, if even for a moment. That I was worthy of the time it might take to tour a farm or show a moment of kindness in a world that so often felt lonely.

So thank you, Andre, for being one of the brave souls of this time on Earth who continues to live with love as your guiding force. You show that we can live in the messy experience of aliveness, acknowledge that we might be at the “end of the world,” and still celebrate the abundance that the Earth gives all the way to the brilliant end.