We came up with the name of the “No Rhyme or Reason Farm” because it was known as the Reason Farm (the last name of the people who owned the farm for many years), and…because there was no rhyme or reason why we would decide to buy and renovate a farm. The name seemed to fit.
I think we should rename it the “Broken Glass Farm.” Either someone used the farm for target practice, or the glass fairies fly through at night and sprinkle broken glass around – just for sport. At first I was always hopeful that the glint of glass meant that I could dig up a whole glass bottle (and I have dug up a few). More often than not, that glint of glass is just a chip or a shard or a piece – not connected to anything else. It could be the neck of a bottle, but no matter how deep you dig, you won’t find the rest of the bottle. It could be a piece of green glass, and if you dig deeper, all you find is clear glass.
There is a lot of it. I pick it up; it reappears overnight, especially if it has rained during the night. It just works its way to the surface and sits there waiting for me to find it. So I decided to collect every piece of glass I found for one week and save it. I now have one pound, six ounces of glass chips, shards and pieces.
All this broken glass scattered around, for no rhyme or reason. I guess the name still fits after all.