The low electric buzz of crickets fills the air; a bullfrog lets out a throaty bellow. The wind tickles the branches that hang heavy with ripe peaches; the tent crinkles and whisps, inflating and deflating ever so slightly as the breeze catches its sides. The other WWOOF’ers are laughing in the cabin across the orchard and Nathan is on the phone in his house; muddled inflections from their conversations travel through the air. Every now and again, the sound of a ripened plum hitting the ground punctuates the calm, its sweet juices bursting through its violet skin. Further down the road, a Gravenstein apple hits the ground with a decided plunk, more resilient to the fall than the delicate plums. I can hear the leaves rustling in the forest that is encroaching on the back field; they sound like the river. I imagine that four months from now, when the rains have started and the river is higher, I’d be able to hear its rumbling water from here inside my tent. In the distance, I hear car engines revving and wheels rolling down the gravely roads. Outside, strange and undefinable sounds…a fox eating fallen plums? A bear lumbering toward the peach tree that's growing right beside the tent? Scurrying, movement. I can’t see the colorful and heavy sky anymore...it’s pitch black but for the tiny silver stars twinkling in the distance...

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It's good to be back on the farm....