Writing is therapeutic. It is for me, at least. Whenever I have been at my most confused, my most disoriented, my most misdirected–writing has helped clarify and organize my jumbled thoughts.  After the tragedy on Friday, I haven’t been able to write. I tried to write a poem… but I just don’t have the words. I’m still waiting, perhaps this blog post will help get them flowing.

I am devastated.

I am angered.

I am sickened.

I am fearful.

I am hopeful.

I am thankful.

When I was first contacted about becoming Mary Jane’s Rural Farmgirl, I was living in an apartment, in Anchorage, with a short elevator ride to my car; a car which I rarely used because I could walk to work, walk to the store, walk to a coffee shop, and walk to the park. However, this wasn’t me. The view from our window was of Office Depot, the ambient noise and light from the surrounding city was constant, and our arguing neighbors could be heard way too easily through our too thin walls. Luckily, at the time that MJF contacted me, we were slated to move to Spring Creek Farm in one month’s time.