Wilde Meadow, 2014 – Michaela Harlow – Pastel on Deckle-Edged Paper, 16″ x 20″ 

I like the phrase ‘country neighbor’. Out here, in the foothills of the Green Mountains, all of my neighbors are country neighbors; which is to say, they aren’t at all close in terms of proximity. In fact, you’d hardly say they’re next door. Country neighbors are people who live in the area, but they might be quite far away. Actually, now that I stop to think about it, I believe that all of my neighbors are at least a mile away.

When I go for a run, I sometimes pass the Wilde Farm. No, that’s not a misspelling, that’s a family name . . .Wilde . . .I rather like it. The Wilde place is a beautiful, old New England homestead, with a white farmhouse and a weathered barn. The open valley in which the property sits is cut through by a wide, stoney brook that looks more like a western creek, and the meadow is surrounded by steep hills of blue-green conifer. They’re late in haying this year —perhaps because of our unsettled, stormy weather— and I’ve loved watching the tall grass sway as I zip by in the early morning haze of  late July.

 On the worktable today, in the thick of a dusty haze 

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