We had to walk away
The farm infrastructure was destroyed during the rains. The road washed away, access disappeared, and rebuilding could have taken a year with no guarantee about when the city would begin. Walking away was not a clean business decision. It was grief.
We had placed a future on that land: youth learning, food growing, classrooms, community, and a place where city rhythm could meet garden roots. Losing access made it feel as if the vision itself had been taken.
A farm is more than acreage
Distance clarified something. The farm was never only the parcel. It was the work of reconnecting people with food, land, seasons, and each other. That work can happen in a backyard, a vacant lot, a park, a classroom, or around a kitchen table.
Moving closer to the city is not a smaller dream. It brings the work closer to the community it was built to serve. The methods may change, but youth education, sustainability, food justice, gardening, and cultural memory remain.
Bloom where you are planted
Trusting the process does not mean pretending the loss did not hurt. It means refusing to let the loss decide what comes next.
The vision did not die. It moved. We are still looking for soil, but we are also learning to recognize that community is ground. Every lesson, shared meal, planted seed, and preserved story is another place the work takes root.