I must be a strange sight to their suburban eyes, walking among my weeds. A farm does not have walls, and the smells of' hamburgers, fries, and tacos waft in from the fast food outlets that are within walking distance. Walking the perimeters of the farm, I pass my neighbors' illuminated windows, feeling like a voyeur. Families prepare their children for bed, babies cry, the grayish-blue glow of television flickers, and students pore over their homework. The farm reveals another reality.
Small animals scurry, owls screech, a slight breeze rustles the leaves on the trees.
Air temperatures change as I enter and leave different air currents, and smells of citrus and avocado in bloom come into focus and mix with the rich smell of recovering soil. For two months in 1984, unrelenting noise pulsed from huge machines that arrived to remove the last agricultural holding that bordered the farm. Though Fairview had grown and flourished, our neighbor had given-in years before. His lemon orchard was a wild, derelict remnant. A certain beauty emerged from this neglect, as nature reclaimed the land.