These days, after hours of manual labor book-ended by online work demands, I sleep hard. So deeply embedded am I into the subconscious and my usual rabid, epic dreaming, that when I finally wake to the tune of rumbling tractors, I must remind myself who I am, where I live and what I’m supposed to be doing.
“Oh, yeah. I’m a single woman, in the year 2012, living in a North Dakota camper, trying to learn what I can about organic farming and the realities of Big Ag. I remember now.”
It’s like ’50 First Dates’ with myself every dadgum morning.