upon arriving back in chicago from our german partners’ wedding, wormwood is on the mind. gotta get a car and get out to the Field and Florist farm with enough time for a good night’s sleep before early harvest. it’ll never stop amazing me how sprawling and difficult it can be to escape the concrete grips of chicagoland. it’s kind of like los angeles but with more rust, all four seasons, and the people here have more mustard stains on their shirts. southeast chicago (particularly gary, indiana) has some of the most economically repressed communities in the country. i pulled off the interstate toward a supermarket in search of an avocado for tomorrow’s breakfast. it’s not always possible to buy fresh fruits and vegetables in our poor communities and i’m reminded of how lucky i am - especially to carve out a living doing what i love. how lucky am i to spend time on a serene flower farm collecting herbs? herbs which i am in turn rewarded for by using in my craft? i’m very lucky and fortunate and blessed. def more lucky than the person whose van was up in flames on the side of I-94 (see pic).
i was a little stoned, very jet-lagged, and beginning to nod off, when i finally pulled into the gravel driveway and flopped into bed on the farm. seems like only an instant ago i hit the mattress for the night but it’s now a quintessential midwestern july morning. the morning stillness of rural michigan is loud. heidi has picked a small pile of blueberries from outside and is gently adding them to pancakes on the griddle. the morning sun proclaims through the kitchen window. there’s steam coming from the coffee pot and steam coming from the pancakes as they fry. it’s early and nobody is ready to talk yet. heidi is such a generous host. thanks for the blueberries and coffee and especially the wormwood - we will make the best absinthe we possibly can with it.