I am Judi Harvin, and Soul Farm has been in my family for more than 50 years. Any place that you’ve been haunting for that long is bound to become spiritual to you. When I think about Soul Farm, I think of heat and dust and bugs. Sinking little girl feet into the mud. I was an only child, and probably a little wild, spending hours in the pastures with horses, becoming one of the herd.

I had a special tree deep in the woods. I’d climb so high, I could watch the cars driving several miles away, passing the old deserted one room schoolhouse just off the blacktop. The place was a magical escape from the world. A place to meditate on ants or clouds or bullfrogs.

Now that I run Soul Farm, it’s easy to get overwhelmed by all the details, but if I pay attention, I can still find time to walk in the woods, sit on an old fallen tree trunk, and stare over the fields. I love going out in the pitch dark night, so dark you literally can walk into trees if you are not with someone who innately knows where they all are (as I do). Sometimes I’ll start at the head of the long grassy drive and run full tilt into the dark. The feeling is one of lightness, ease and just a little fear. One time my girlfriends set off glowing paper lanterns for a birthday party. I found myself following them up that same drive as they rose, beyond the drive and up the gravel road, until they became identical in size and shape to the millions of tiny stars.

If you aren’t diddling with a broken tractor, chasing a horse or goat up the road, or cleaning up a fallen tree, Soul Farm is a pretty simple place. I wear garage sale jeans and old T-shirts and feel quite attractive, because I feel strong and empowered. I don’t even think about changing out of my dusty jeans or work hat before heading out to the hardware store for a part, because everyone understands hard work, and there’s no need to explain. And, if your tractor is stuck in the muddy fields in the spring or accidentally topples into a pond (true story), a quick text can get a whole pack of farmers out to help, because, as my friend Tom said, “To us, this is recreation.” Community is survival.

I hope to expand that community and share some of this magic with folks looking to simplify and slow down. To learn to communicate without words, (or to use words more effectively). To find balance in their own corner of the world and feel the beauty in the vast flatness of our Midwest. Maybe to garden, eat something right off the vine, commune with a horse, or take a Savasana by the pond.

It’s a little gritty here. That’s true. But so is life.