My Husband And I have been farmers for 30 years. We've seen farming change a lot, but one thing that doesn't change about it is the place. The land. It's home. We're still farming the same land we started out with. We call it "Peacefield Farms"—to remind us of a favorite hymn. Christian Science Hymnal, No. 341 .
We sell plants, herbs, and trees that we grow on the farm at a local farmer's market in Vista, California, about 15 minutes from home. Before the market opens, we hang thick wires from our booth's pipe and tarpaulin roof. We bend a hook onto the end of the wire so that the potted plants won't slip off. One time, in the fall of 2000, I went to the Farmer's Market alone. As I was setting up, one of the hooks caught my eyelid and tore it. It hurt and it wouldn't stop bleeding. But I was upset mainly because this interrupted my routine. I had to be set up before the 7:45 a.m. whistle blew (the signal to start selling), and I wanted to be ready. Confused and in pain, I did what I normally do when I need comfort and help. I prayed.
I felt God taking care of me right then.
