Visit Gaining Ground and Enjoy Poetry on the Farm
March 27, 2023 • Gaining Ground
The arrival of spring signals many important events on the farm—including our annual Poetry on the Farm exhibit!
We are again installing a self-guided farm tour featuring poems authored by Gaining Ground recipients, partner organizations, and poets throughout our community. Poetry on the Farm kicks off on Saturday, April 29, and will continue through Friday, June 9.
Please pay us a visit and enjoy a selection of thought-provoking poems while you walk through the natural beauty and thrumming activity of our hunger-relief farm. This exhibit is free and open to the public.
This year we have also created a virtual version of the exhibition. Due to space limitations, we were unable to include all of the poems we received in our installation on the farm. Below you can read every poem in an accessible online installation.
This year’s Poetry Walk is made possible by the generous support of the Concord Cultural Council.
Our 2023 Poetry Collection
flying heart Paul Green one day immune to altitude I fly like a newborn swims no clothes or thoughts of falling limbs sopping naked arms and eyelids fluttering soaring through trees headwind and thunder less awkward birds thumbnail hearts humming chase the automatic insects but over the fields my heart poised like a dancer at measure's end, still seeks a grace more obvious than innocence
Hand on the Land Katie Silvan With a hand on the Land And an eye toward the Horizon Breath that rises and Falls A heart in my chest that Beats I could not tell you who is not my Kin
Arrowhead Elizabeth Wright Green as any forest, but soft and supple to touch I pick a leaf of spinach, and wish to eat it much. Spring is nearly over, and the afternoons now simmer Shape of arrowhead tells me, this plant must soon be dinner. Or else it will rise and bolt and must go to seed And then this plant—once food—is just another weed.
Untitled Erick Rawlings Melting snow from trees Their drip drops sound of a clock Counting time 'til spring
The Zen of Blueberries Charles Phillips Pick the biggest ones, the sweetest, let the others sweeten more - this is the best crop ever - needs water, water hate to see the bill - This early August morning, as the sun climbs, quiet but for the cicadas and bird calls - there’s the mourning dove always - jays screech, no you can’t have these berries, go to the feeder - Tiny grasshoppers everywhere - pay attention, each bush is different, resist the urge to strip bunches perhaps later pick them clean and freeze quarts - Come winter I’ll remember this day, that will be an even better crop
Nature and Nurture Charles Phillips Visited Fairhaven Bay with the wind in our hair and sun on our faces, giant oaks’ branches tossing, flashing rays reflected from ripples on the bay Kept these images in mind while I pulled out the frosted tomatoes, beans, and zinnias, collected them to be discarded, returned stakes and poles to the garage for next year, brought hoses to the basement for storage It was a good day.
A Birthday Meal Carla Schwartz For a fresh start, steam fresh vegetables lightly— a new beginning, hope. To tease the taste buds, spice hot. To convey deep ardor, roast the spices. Simmer in a sauce of water and wine. What better dessert than steamed mussels, onion, black pepper, leek, a small piece of bread to sop?
At the Meal after the Memorial
Carla Schwartz
The gluten-intolerant woman
who had brought her dog to the memorial,
sat down next to me and complained
It’s all bread.
Then she told of how once she aspired to join an army.
Waiters, like soldiers, brought bowls of extra bread to each table.
As we were readying to leave,
she said I want to take the bread home.
I was taking home what was and wasn’t said during the service—
Now, I know how to live
You could always count on him…
Music he loved—
I had recorded service on video.
Would the bread, then, be for the dog?
Go ahead, I said. We were all kindness that day.
Take the bread.
In Conversation With Spring Laura Veligor I must have found such comforting shelter within the snow that I now discover, in the brisk air, another home—and readily depart the dark with you. Belonging again to imminently lush grasses beyond—each root defies the delicacy of newness as it parts the simmering ground and bears a thread to your verdant robe blanketing the earth. Further still, they stir, cracking through to reach even the restrained and unadorned parts of me. I emerge resilient. You must have traveled a great distance and passed through untold thresholds to return from wherever you were exiled to sleep. How endless the night must have seemed for you to burst so urgently upon a still, quiet expanse, ringing the bells of spirited thunder and nourishing rain, and flaring the lantern of day so brightly that light blooms with the ambition and regency of a kingdom. You arrive arduously, wildly. I must have reveled in awe as time faltered for your ardent company, and watched, with gratitude, the magic hour retreat. Once more, the waking landscape plucks me like a buttercup and lifts me to your smiling chin. I see my canary reflection and wonder: Am I enough? A tiny paper star gazing up at the sun. Am I worthy? A sprig of friendship tucked behind your ear. How kindly you carry me along. You must have remembered the joy in conjuring a warp and weft of color; the lambent spark and unfolding petal; sweetness, burgeoning marvelously through the air, ushering all to cherish what was and witness the mystery of all that is yet to be; wild strawberry, daffodil, lily of the valley, magnolia, violet, cherry blossom, lilac—and life. Thank you for surviving.
Gathering Willa Potter Back when we tried to build a house together, If you remember, you said it would smell like earth and wild rose hips. We couldn’t predict these things Of course, we could only plunge our hands deep Into the ground, and then twist. See the way the black dirt shutters And opens your skin. This is what we do before a garden This is how you make the earth tender for plants. We would need to gather things, Like: hard cold water that is moving That is the turning of old things into Daytime, that is bent over the bathroom sink, red eyes stare back in frustration, mostly. “Start over” you growl, faking irony Let me start over. There. You drip in it in the mirror. There you are. I want to tell someone the same story over and over The one where I found a nest in the tunnel-blackberry bush and the little birds flung their heads back and they took worm after worm from my hands. Think: sky blue egg shell crumbs crushed under your fingernails Spring: making children of us. Spring, making children, making mother-birds obsolete. There is another story About a man, who dies at Skellig Rock in Ireland A lot of people die. It was only strange the way they tell it, as if an afterthought about this open-armed stranger Full of the inexhaustible fire if living With his arms out, trading air and foam with his Eyes closed. Letting the sea breathe for him Forward and back When we tried to build a house together, I remember, we needed to gather things. We needed to tell the same stories over and over to ourselves To make it real. We needed the black dirt from the greenhouse Pressed into the clay pots on the window sill We needed time to fill, we needed to fill it up like water. There is another story, I'm writing this one right now. Where the two of us are lying alive on the summer ground. Eyes closed. Letting the blades of the grass breathe with us.
Sitting in trees Vincent Dorio As a boy I sat in trees It was where I had to go For if you’ve ever sat in trees well then you would know The limbs would hold me as I imagined a loving parent might A cathedral of calm Leads me to dreams A Chapel of peace In a temple of leaves So far from it all And so at the center of all the rest
Hallowed be thy Grain Vincent Dorio Bark stripped branches cut timber hewn such beauty in life as pure a gift serving in death again and again man and tree grow to become what they make of each other.
Honor Vincent Dorio The last of the mahogany, like the great elephants, they will be hunted. Their grains and burls, mounted, in the library trophy room. I will tell of holding that tree, the last majestic, truly. I will tell of when they all stood, as if the hairs, on the arms of god. We stand on today, the air around us, rich and deep. We pray together.
Ursa Major Allison Ostrowski the sparkling stars so close and bright like the blackberries bursting on my tongue the tang contrasts with the sweetness of the night air my love lurking in the shadows like a bear it's form immense and skittish only slightly braver in the dark hiding just out of sight until kin feels safe enough give into hunger and come out into the open
Spring Wonders Max Peddar, Fenn School Concord, 5th Grade The birds are chirping, the flowers are blooming, the sun is shining, the bunnies are hopping, the trees are sprouting and the world is now green.
Ode/Tribute to Food Steve Correa Amidst the fields yonder lies, Nature’s bounty of endless splendour Or barren lands, sustenance unsure That choice is ours, my friend, to cherish or plunder. Oh food, you are a gift so rare, A tribute to Mother Earth’s care Reminding us of our connection to all, To cherish and preserve our world. Tis food is not just sustenance, Rather, a connection to our very existence, A reminder of the beauty that surrounds, And the miracle of life that abounds. From the soil, seed, to the plate, A wondrous journey we make, With every step, a memory to take, From the simplest of meals to the grandest feast. You are a symbol of love, of joy, of peace, You unite us at the table, And make our hearts and souls stable. So let us savour and honour every bite we take, You tantalize our senses with your flavours, Satisfying our hunger and fulfilling our cravings, You bring comfort and joy, pleasure, and pain, A reminder of life's bounty and precious gain. For if we embrace the lessons you bring, And the beauty that you so perfectly sing, We will be left with a world that's divine, And a feast of pleasures that forever shine.
A Stranger Zack Assarian I brushed a strangers teeth today We stared at each other studying the lines and creases I asked if he was ok I could tell he was lying
In Concert with Keeping Jeanine Cerundolo I can’t remember whether the neighbor gave us permission to bypass his “Keep Out” sign, or if we ignored it. Either way, I can see my feet toeing the water’s edge on a still rough rock, covered in moss that doesn’t care to whom the property belongs. I can feel the tickle of a fern who wants to get close, like the puppy who feels offended if you don’t acknowledge her adorability and say hello. I can smell the dew drops evaporating in time, sighing their way out of sight, bowing their way into the bliss of nothingness, 'til next time. I can taste the scent of clouds, the ones that are so high in the sky they might be held by your eyes instead of fingers, but they feel fluffy on your tongue just the same. It may be your backyard, but it is my sanctuary. The way the grasses bend while stiffening to stay upright. The way the ducks waddle until they hit the horizon of the pond, and then their swimming gives them grace. The way the ripples of the rock I pelted into the waters wait their turn to impact each other, until they finally stop— like a singing bowl whose sound dissipates so slowly you aren’t sure which moment in its song was the final one, it melds so well with silence. There is a way that nature likes to be: She is stern and surrendered. She is quick to notice, but slow to speak. She relishes beginnings, yet is lazy about endings (she likes to persist). She is haughty (as she should be), and humble (her roots run deep). She laughs like a hyena in love with unselfconscious wildness. She cries like elephants who grieve their young, the same as you and I. She melts like raindrops hitting pavement, dissolving while also leaving a mark. She rises like the aura around the moon that winks knowingly at the rays around the sun. She hides, when hiding is required, (peering out with cautious curiosity), And boasts proud displays of peacock feathers when it is time to celebrate! This tree will never see how beautiful she really is, But I will be her mirror For as long as she will let me Revere The thing That I can not keep away from… You cannot keep me out From the only thing that keeps me In.
Evening Shepherds Jeanine Cerundolo Nighttime by the water’s edge. Even the rocks have a subtle grace tonight. I sit, barely noticing my own breath, Watching the back of their slick black heads. These Two geese, on either side, Flank the Two of us. New to each other, Still, we share some stillness that transcends time. Sandwiched by their reverent silence, We all sit quietly. It’s not that no one moves, It’s that there is no reason to. Their backs to us, Beauty unspoken but implicit. Knowing their eyes are on the same skyline, we witness light & dark dancing. We melt into how we are the same, -but different. Her feathers unruffled, His neck long yet relaxed. We are all watching, But not watching each other. I’m watching them watch the waters And the sparkle of the city across the way. There is a quiet knowing In how they trust us, And let us entrust ourselves in turn. It is the peace of the wild things That creates still waters in my soul.
In the morning you leave your nose ring with me
Andie Sheridan
When little bits of me fall like glacier caps—
fall like parts interminably—fall apart
When you & I peer forward at the ugly—the horror of the outside
without knowing the crocuses from the trees—
she-spring spreads her legs
open with life, awkward & greedy with shoots,
& I greet all this awful,
awful love for the new
When my poems exit me like growths along my arms
painful to touch & too painful not to
When our rush becomes hasty, when you leave your nose ring
as you leave because I’ll see you tomorrow,
the tomorrow no longer hollows me,
but hallows as a future apocalyptic—of joy possible
When my face is sore & putridic
with season-pubescent change,
you kiss my mouth—close
& open and somehow opening
to all your risk, to all your fraught fingers
terribling—
terror-dribbling from my hungry chin
When your window narrows to one end,
to a tight pore in the sky—oh god, oh god,
does looking at the moon through you,
does looking into your stoned eyes
make all of this greenness newly natural—make this greenery—
feel like morning
Macbeth’s Cauldron Catastrophe: The Three Witches Prophecy
Allison Luo, Blanchard Middle School
Westford, 8th grade
“Round about the cauldron go;”
Circling the pot, beware all Foe,
All Hallows’ Eve is our delight ...
Be prepared for a Frightful Night.
First in, fling a yowling cat,
Followed by toenail of bat,
“Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”
Around a pig’s heart entwines,
Tentacles of crimson Bittersweet vine.
Plucked as the morning light fades,
Glowing purple Deadly Nightshade.
Thirteen thousand bleached bones of Whale,
Spelling out an Evil tale.
A Sprinkling of Slithery Slippery Snails,
And a thunderous clap o’ Gale.
“Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”
Seven Stinging Salamander Sisters,
Gnawing a Gangerous Blister,
A raging rooster, along w’ bloody Gizzard,
All tossed in, with one leaping Lizard,
One hundred hungry scampering Mice,
Devouring a headful of lawless Lice,
Warty Tongue of Mute Toad,
Whilst the black raven nightly crows.
Who will reign as Scottish King and thane?
We bring death to all those who imbibe
this broiling concoction, far and wide,
Finally, our wicked Death Wish,
Makes up our heinous yet tasty dish.
“Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”
The Four Seasons of Vivaldi Hechen Luther Conant Elementary School Acton, 4th grade Winter’s snowy cloak Soon covers her barren land Blazing hearth, fire and smoke Warming our cold hands. Spring’s gentle showers Breathing their new Ode to Joy His green fields, stippled flowers Running girls and boys. Summer’s ice cream trucks Crammed with tasty frozen treats Seagulls circling red beach huts Harvest golden wheat. Fall’s fiery foliage leaves Maples, oaks: picturesque frame A time to enjoy nature’s breeze Until it’s winter time again...
The Farm Opera Avia Chandonnet Carlisle Public Schools Carlisle, 4th Grade I Hiss My once snowy white downy feathers Now muddy from farm pond Hiss! Hiss! “Waddle away, duck!” II Quack My once proud mallard emerald head Now aging into grey Quack! Quack! “You can’t have everything. Move out of the way, chicken” III Cluck My once burnished chestnut plumage Now fluttering to farm ground Cluck! Cluck! “What’s the fuss over here, rooster?” IV Cock-a-doodle-doo My red crown and shiny tail Stands on end Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cock-a-doodle-doo! “Food? All mine!” V Hiss, Quack, Cluck, Cock-a-doodle-doo Goose, Mallard Duck, Chicken and Rooster all sing together in The Farm Opera Song ...
The Lake Elia Chandonnet Carlisle Public Schools, Carlisle, 6th Grade The river waltzed gracefully across the rocks, The lake watched enviously, Wishing to move. As the ocean tangoed with the waves, From a distance, The lake watched, With burning jealousy, Wishing to dance too. But the lake did not know, How much the river wanted to slow. And how desperately the ocean wanted to rest, And take a Long, Deep, Breath.
Two Beating Wings Lily Wu Luther Conant Elementary School Acton, 4th Grade Jeweled wings shimmer against a pale sky, Wings that flutter. Wings that fly. Stares wistfully, unopened flowers, Wishing for April showers. Young green spring leaf buds gently unfurl, Colorful hues sprout and swirl. No more winter, as butterfly knows, Blue sky devoid of icy snow. Unique beating wings no longer stand out, For soon there will be flowers all about. Birds return. Sun will shine, Butterfly frozen in ephemeral time. Sun’s warm, golden glow drifts down from above, Illuminating couplet wings so belov’d. This beautiful sight is ours to keep, butterfly drifts off to sleep...
Hoo Am I? Emma Yan Paul P. Gates Elementary School Acton, 4th grade Bespectacled obsidian eyes My snowy white complexion is home to my hooked nose As I wear my cape of burnt treacle feathers Swooping for plump mice My sharp talons tightly clasp My first moon meal Night hunter. Never sleep. I nestle my Wisdom in Ancient outhouses, stables, attics, farm hay lofts My tawny plumage blends with golden wheat Hoo Am I? (Hoo Am I? Answer: A Barn Owl!)
Soaring Anna Urzua Raymond J Grey Junior High School Acton, 7th Grade High in the woods Is my stick filled home Built So many times Perched On the highest tree My razor sharp vision Searches the land Streams and rivers Carve paths through the green Through all of the land, Endlessly Keeping me company, Supporting me Soaring My proud white coated head blends with the clouds My vast wingspan, sturdy, as I glide with the wind As I fly through the open High in the sky, Circling the verdant treetops Scanning the land for any twitch of movement To dive into I fall like a lightning bolt Clutching my prey with wrinkled hands I, rise up again, again and again And own the land
The Hawk Lucas Shang Raymond J. Grey Junior High School Acton, 7th Grade I conquer the mountain and look down, At the bustling kingdom beneath me. I rule it all, every inch, Every animal and every tree. I can see, my every quarry Trying to flee from my mighty grasp I slash him down, blood spills Rushing rivers of hot lava The sun’s obedient rays Shine just for me. For me to see, for me to use To my advantage only. My talons as sharp as razor My body as sturdy as steel No predator to track me down For I am king, but I need no crown The ignorant animals below Thinking they rule it all. Hiding, lurking in the darkness Scared of my power, knowing they'll fall My bronze, shining plume Embers against farm’s darkness My gashing talons shaped the world And I rule it all. Then. Now. Always.
The Blue Jay’s Song Natalie Qin Oak Hill Middle School Newton, 6th Grade I swoop close to the ground, My blue feathers, gliding along, Landing in a tree, I happily chirp my song. Humans, I think, Who stand big and tall, Compared to I, Little and small. Then a tiny one, Smaller than the rest, Comes jumping forward, Don’t know where to turn next. I fly up, fluttering my wings, The miniature beast runs. Let me be. Will I now finally have peace? I wonder, as I maze around the trees. Miniscule human soon falls behind, Gaining some time and thought. Yet this minute passes like the flicker of my wing, So I should enjoy these seconds I’ve barely bought. I swoop close to the ground, My blue feathers, gliding along, Landing in a tree, I melodiously chirp my song.
The Six Quatrain Killer Jonathan Li Blanchard Middle School Westford, 7th Grade I crunch into the first turtle's mottled shell A crimson red blossoms into the emerald river Pungence wafts around my nares The taste of its juicy flesh pleases me Every day, I lunch on lusciousness I dine on deliciousness I am the King of the New England Pond I am the only one that matters. Silent two journey killer, gliding through fresh and salt I hunt to kill. Not to please others Only yours truly I spy a pike lurking atop Its ghostly shape rises above In. An. Instant. Ascend. Mouth. Open. Wide. Teeth. Gleam. Strong jaws sink into hard belly of beast Nare nihilistic anarchy rules our natural world I was born craving blood born craving kills and born craving to live this Life My brackish top camouflaged beneath today’s sixth and final heron victim And soon I strike. Harshly. We Bull Sharks have no mercy.
The Food Chain Veronica Cao Acton Boxborough Regional High School 9th Grade Alpha Wolf My pack follow me I lead into the woods Sneaking, sliding, creeping along Never be heard. As silent as the night. I see deer. We surround the naive prey We know this is our meal We kill as we please It is hard to scrape by. Every deadly winter Takes almost all of us wolves We must survive. I am the leader The alpha The eldest My pack respect me I know each and every one of them They help me live Only if I help them live Some days go by without a single soul eating But I'm leading Nobody will die on my watch Maybe that's why the last picked me The last alpha. The responsibility never sleeps. Snake Ruler Slithering under leaves Sneaking through the bramble They don’t see me coming I strike My catch is my pride My stealth is my aid Nobody knows I’m there Until I hit, swift and deadly I rule the forest floor I eat when I please Mice are my prey Hawks are my enemies One now comes swooping down Trying to catch me But I am quicker I dodge and coil Ready to hiss out But the hawk flies away Crowing about its loss It’s not a loss for me; it’s victory Our battle has alerted animals nearby I can’t get a good catch now Maybe it wasn’t a victory after all Maybe it was a distraction… Daydreaming Fish I daydream in the water I swim this way and that Looking for algae Whenever I’m hungry My friends are with me Surrounding me Protecting me Something looms up ahead It’s a red and white floating rock A worm wriggles under it. One of my companions Swims up to nibble Up, up and away We avoid the deadly air We swim away as fast as we can Putting the knowledge in our collective Warning every creature we meet Of the deadly buoyant rock We soon forget But the school remembers The wriggling worm appears again Up, up the floating rock goes Taking another companion with it Making our school of fish smaller and smaller…
A Symphony of Spring Flowers: Who am I? Emily Sim Conant Elementary School Acton, 5th Grade My snowy tiny white bonnet droops. My paradise green body stands tall Head held high I reveal myself every spring Who Am I? I have many layers of coats to keep myself warm In fabric of coral, blush and bridal hue “Pink Lady” is my nickname I reveal myself every spring Who Am I? My velvety satin cup I come in all different colors, shapes and sizes! I stand tall I’m so common, you will see me everywhere Who Am I? Here are the answers! Snowdrop, Peony, Tulip
Canine Renarde Stella Hu Fay School Southborough, 8th Grade My flaming fur sets emerald farm alight Prowling, hunting late at night Chicken, bloody in flight Cunning Renarde Through thick trees, I crash Claws, teeth bared, I slash Lunging forth, I lash Crafty Renarde Standing proud, I bark out loud Queen of the animal crowd Courageous Renarde Sanctuary lair of deep, dark den Feigning sleep when From dark night, tawny hoots, ten Curious Renarde Hunting solo, not in pack Laying low, hiding behind grain sack Ears pricked, my satin titian back Coppery Renarde My flaming fur sets emerald farm alight Prowling, hunting late at night Chicken, bloody in flight Canine Renarde.
Winters Secrets Sage Burkhead Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade Wind whispers in my ear telling me what direction I should go Coyotes talk to one another Squirrels scatter everywhere to collect acorns for hibernation Rabbits huddle up in their burrows Foxes hold their kits close Trees start to lose their leaves Mosquitos begin to fade away into the dusk Chipmunks have gone Bears have conceded the fight Wolves have yet to catch some food Waterfalls go to sleep I suppose this is the start of winter
The Huntington Botanical Gardens Maisie Crissman Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade The Botanical gardens Sweet smelling and fresh Purple pops And it is as if the yellow hops to the center of each flower and plant The sugar-coated air blows my hair around While miniature crystals begins to fall From the warm sky The zone with plants so unique The place where nothing should be changed With everything so new and luscious The gardens are where I am best
Goat Cave Finn Dean Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade The sun's rays beam down as I inch my way across the cliff The sharp limestone stings my hands I gaze at the mountains on the island next to us Waves splash as we keep moving toward the cave We reach the entrance I stare through the small opening of the cave and jump in I swim in a little pool of water inside for some time We explore the rest of the cave and begin the hike back
Hiking at Blue Hills Miarose Eames Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade We walked up the rocks As we watched the sun reflect on them You could hear the birds chirping And see squirrels climb up the trees While tons of different animals roamed the forest As we were hiking It had only gotten hotter And sweat soon started to drip from our arms So we headed back After walking in the shade for hours, we had finally reached the sun And that's when we realized we made it back
Growing my Garden Ella Fireman Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade I spread soil and dirt for the new seeds to come Tomatoes, basil, and many more The water I spray Hits the seeds As I pray for the sun to come out Fall through winter the seeds are as still as a statue As spring comes along I observe it shaping into a plant I watch seeds grow into vegetables and fruit For me and my family to eat What once was a size of a pebble is now a mighty plant Oh what a lovely thing
Pepper Stealer Grey Fitzhenry Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade Twas a humid day. Today we come to gaining grounds. There was a variety of fruits and vegetables scattered across the land. The first half of the work was in the pepper field, where we picked peppers for a while. First it was one person, then another, The group started to cluster around a staff member. I joined. The miniscule creature looked as if it were filled with mint green gel. The staff member informed us about it as we oohed and awed. But soon enough, the puny caterpillar was put to rest, for it was eating the peppers. as we went back to work, I thought about the imposing insect.
Forest Walk Brooke Geiger Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade The sun reflects off the millions of icicles As a small stream run through the frozen waterfall I creep closer To find the inside flows with water Birds nest in the hollow cave off the fall Their chirping echos of the ice I look behind to see a bird swoop down The flowers look beautiful They make the the ice so colorful I go ever closer A crackly leaf brushes my arm As a cold winter breeze chills me I head out further.
The Hornworm Marin Hamory Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade I gently pull green bell peppers from their stalks, their silky leaves brushing my skin, as I reach into the plants. My peers and I try to not step on the pepper plants, but the tent is crowded. As I turn a stem, I find myself staring at a large caterpillar. The hornworm chews on the bush, its pale complexion blending with the surrounding green. I abruptly stumble back, grass crunching under my feet, as I am rather disgusted by the fat, vile insect that feasts on the delicate ecosystem— the ecosystem that the farm has created.
Spring Christopher Higgins Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade The soft green grass reveals itself From the horrible Winter that has just passed The tall trees cover the plants from the sun's powerful rays The plants create beauty every time they are placed Food is harvested from the plants to those in need Greenhouses give cucumbers, peppers, and tomatoes They also protect the plants from harsh winters that come yearly Farms are extremely important just like nature itself
A Garden Walk Lexie Keel Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade The lock on the tall wooden frame of the door unlatches, And a hidden world reveals itself Berries the color of rubies shine brightly against the soft greens of the leave By which they are hidden Flowers the color of the sky climb on vines up the fence, They seemingly glow in the early sunlight. Smooth tomatoes shine in the fluorescent glow A clear, elegant sky spreads out before me I slowly start forward taking in this bright, beautiful garden with every step. The wood chips laid upon the ground jab at my feet as I proceed Nearing the back wall of this oasis I turn; and appreciate this haven for plants of all species to grow and thrive.
Hold on Tight Sawyer Kilbride Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade The day of horse riding Ladened with the promise of excitement A bit scary standing next to the beast But no lack of eagerness A long line of horse cross over the steep ridge The morning sun Fading My horse was young and powerful He was full of energy and strength The sun was the focus of my eyes My hands loosened The horse was unsettled He started to jump high The guide was forced to buckle the young horse to her own Shocked I just sat there in the stirrups We continued in a long line back to camp.
In the Garden Neda Mobed Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade When we first arrived at gaining ground Scents of soil and vegetables filled our lungs with every breath We all could tell that this was a place of coming together To help those who needed it the most Everything there was harvested with thought, love, and care We watch the clouds move While picking fresh bell peppers from the ground The day felt short But we feel as though we've made a huge difference in our community.
The Cow Barn Archie Nickel Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade As I walk into the barn the stench of cow manure hits my nose I start to gag The farmers tell us to grab shovels and rakes Shovels to scoop up manure Rakes to rake hay into cow pens I dash to grab a rake People who grabbed shovels start to shovel manure I start to feel guilty about not grabbing a shovel Once we complete our jobs Everyone takes a turn spraying down the floor When we step outside The air swallows up my nose with the smell of the outdoors Our next job is to go to the garden
Aran Islands Katherine O'Neill Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade Rock walls all unique and different Assembled by hand My family and I estimate how long it took to build them I guess a century They all look so complex and beautiful The grass spreads across the land From dead grass to emerald green grass The bikes we rode were perfect For a lovely day ride I grasp the handles Push the pedals And Zoom Down all the hills With a speed that is faster than electricity Wind blows in my face My hair flicks back I had such a joyful day at the Aran Islands.
Beautiful Red Fruit Lily O'Toole Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade My mouth watered as I glanced around at the beautifully blossomed fruit My grandmother placed a freshly ripened tomato in my hand She then returned to watering the rest of them And left the tomato and I alone I bit slowly into it Almost Timid My lips tingled as the crisp tomato juice took over my tastebuds The powerful flavor left me wanting more I couldn't believe it had tasted so delicious What a beautiful red fruit it was.
A Day at Gaining Ground Ava Robisnon Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade I look over the steep green hills Lush bushes and ripe fruits of all colors Cover the ground When you look up, You see blue skies With white fluffy clouds Baby piglets and little chickens Scratch at the doors to be let out Yellow, purple, and red flowers Fill the grass with color Brown leaves crunch under my feet as I walk A sudden chill fills the air And runs down my body.
A Day at the Farm Oliver Segalini Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade The farm was full of sun As people moved throughout the land of visibility The flowers have blossomed Beginning to release their pleasant fragrance and color Moving throughout the wilderness The air was full of life The humming of wings The chattering of squirrels and chipmunks The thumping of woodpeckers burrowing into trees This is a day at the farm
The View from Sleeping Beauty Sidharth Shankar Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade I turn my head And see many intricate shapes formed by clouds I slowly turn my head and The dense forest surrounds me With light peeking through the array of trees Birds and creatures Create a beautiful sound My friends and I stare in awe Of what we just hiked The Adirondack mountains surround us But what I climbed all this way for Was the view of Lake George with it's glistening water
Spectacular Smells Lillian Singh Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade The smells are spectacular Clean and crisp, As the breeze and the mist blow by The fragrance of the flowers and trees, Fill the air with melodies My hair blows in the wind Like a bird that lingers in the sky I get a whiff of spring from the wild breeze The joy in the town is carried all year round I am happy! Happy as can be, With all these spectacular smells That comfort me.
Finally we made it Lizzy Stone Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade My teeth chatter a s I make my way up the steep trail The rain hits my skin and goosebumps fill my arms I try not to wish I hadn't signed up to hike this trail my councilor screams "1 more mile left!" I am ready to give up but I don't Step by step, branch by branch, I avoid rocks and trees Soon I see sunlight As we reach the foggy top the rain slowly quiets Finally we made it.
Birds-eye-view Ava Thorpe Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade I take a deep breath. "Come on! It will be so fun!" My sister begged my mother. "Okay fine, I'lI buy tickets" My mother sighed. Almost nobody was in line to climb onto the ride. As we handed out tickets to the kind operator, I turned my head up to see The cloudless spring sky. It was absolutely magnificent to look at. Bump! I held on tight t o the cold railing. The balloon started to rise Higher And higher To the sky. I hear birds communicating from the vast sky, I felt the warm California air, I smelled the fresh grass and dirt below me, And I saw acres, up on acres of Precious farmland. As the giant balloon lowered I thought about the time And work It took to make the vivacious piece of land.
A fantastic day in the garden Rory Walter Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade The warm summer air brushed up against my skin As I opened the gate to the fresh smelling garden, bees swarmed the fresh produce The sun beamed down on the plants, making them shine in the light The tomatoes were ripe the chives were green with joy and the cucumbers had just sprouted What a fantastic day in the garden.
Little fuzzy excavator Evan Wang Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade Our family grows tomatoes and carrots every year in winter In our house so they can sprout in the spring We made sure that they grow their furthest Before we harvest It occurred odd to me How every week I would find a few holes dug And the plants missing Huh. That's strange. I would be out in my backyard And trip over a random hole randomly on the cleanly cut grass Were my parents stealing vegetables? In the middle of night Probably not Turns out We had little fuzzy excavator eating our plants A groundhog.
I Close My Eyes and Ascend Eli Wember Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade The final stretch closes in The peak and the feat come into view Just one final wall of rock and I'm there My bag's weight slowly subsides After one last drink of water Then I begin my climb The blazing sun rips the sweat out of my body Dripping off my forehead And onto the rock below It is only twenty feet But it feels like one thousand I close my eyes and ascend When I open them, the rock is horizontal I've reached the top of Mount Chocorua My eyes spin around No matter where I look The White Mountains fill my view The snowy tip of Mount Washington Gleams in the distance I take a picture with my mind To capture the moment The eights miles were worth it Just another eight On the way down.
Tending for the Oxen Jack Zavratsky Tenacre Country Day School Wellesley, 6th Grade The incredibly large oxen are lead out of their stall Into the open field. I start to brush out the knots in their hair As the electric fence threatens me from inches away. They whip their tails in the air to brush away the flies As they chew their cud. We Begin to prep them for working on the field by Attaching the yolk to both of the oxen, Which they don't appreciate. One of the farmers tightens the yolk and attaches the plow. My friends and I pet them and say our final goodbyes. We watch them trot off into the distance, Ready for a hard day of work.