Vida a la Finca — Sovereign Living With Nature (A Poem)
Vida a la Finca — Sovereign Living With Nature
This farm rests high where mountains lean,
in tropical layered green—
held in arms of forested stone,
a living sanctuary where roots feel home.
Water streams, roosters mark the day,
Sun and soil show us the way.
The camino follows a long dirt road,
Some nights the dark rings “ribbit-ribbit” with toads.
It's daylight in the mountains—morning's here.
Another day made bright and clear.
The work begins again with care,
In natural light and clean, fresh air.
Waterfalls and birdcalls echo clear,
Nature’s chorus far and near.
Dawn song opens up the day
Before the mind can drift away.
The land speaks truth without a sound,
Prayer laid in stone and living ground.
Doors slide open—light pours in.
Bare feet meet the waiting ground.
Skin soaks up the warming rays,
Before the world grows sharp with sound.
A Doberman stands—alert, aware,
Quiet strength that guards with care.
Protection given without force,
A loyal presence holding course.
Eyes that scan yet never sway—
Always faithful night and day.
Fruit trees begin to give,
Young, native bananas learning how to live.
Mulberries line the home,
Dark and sweet, just ripe to fall—
Dropped in kefir, our morning fruit bowl,
By hands and trees, no store at all.
Look to nature for the rhythm;
Her ancient patterns carry wisdom.
Morning moves the way it should:
Horses fed, troughs filled with good.
Down to ponds where duckweed spreads,
Azolla thick on mirrored beds.
Tilapia glide, guapote spin—
Nature teaches from within.
What would overgrow is checked inside,
Balance held, no force applied.
Fresh greens netted, carried near
to where the chickens scratch and gather.
Duckweed fresh from pond to pen,
Kale and greens and amaranth then.
Black soldier flies from compost rise—
Waste becomes the food supply.
Eggs still warm in waiting hands—
Breakfast earned by honest plans.
Work becomes prayer when done with care.
Nothing wasted, nothing rushed—
Everything returns to us.
The Garden of Eden breathes in layered rows—
Lettuce, broccoli rise and grow.
Thyme and rosemary scent the air,
Tarragon close at hand.
Tomatoes climb their trellised lines,
Roots push deep where light won’t shine—
Cassava, taro, ginger, gold,
Sweet potato, purple, bold.
Pastures follow contour lines,
Grass feeds cows in grazing time.
Jersey mothers, Brahman strong,
Moving slow where hills belong.
Into stanchion, calm and still,
Till the milk pail brims and fills.
Milk alive with unseen worlds—
cultures rich with teeming life.
Image adapted from Quesería Asiegu Ecológica in Asturias, Spain
Ricotta fresh and curds pulled long,
Mozzarella stretched and strong.
Hard cheeses set aside to age—
Time completing what we made.
Manure saved, returned to soil—
The circle restored by steady toil.
Clear mountain water threads the land,
Past the stone Buddha, calm and slow,
Toward the swimming pond below—
Where the river stones learn to glow,
An invitation made of flow.
Mineral teas from mountain soil,
Leaves and weeds in water bound,
Poured back where the soil drinks deep—
The earth remembers what to keep.
The rain falls in the afternoons,
We lounge and listen to old tunes.
The land stays quiet, tucked away—
Low EMF, hardwired days.
Far from hum and borrowed glare,
Time runs clean, the rhythm fair.
Twelve hours light, twelve hours dark,
A cadence older than ticking clocks.
Sun-led days and star-led nights,
A rhythm bodies still recall—
An ancient beat within us all.
The basics met, and nothing less:
Good food, clean water, shelter, rest.
Each meal arrives just steps away,
Farm to fork, fresh every day.
Soon the sheep will join the spin,
Another faithful thread woven in—
Closed-loop cycles, hand to hand,
Every gift returns to land.
The above two images are adapted from Dr. Mae-Wan Ho
Here, wealth is health and time well spent—
The land in balance, needs well met.
Life reduced to what is real,
Not the wants we’re taught to feel.
This is the ultimate sovereign citadel,
Not ruled by trans-humanist agendas—Microsoft or Intel.
Rooted here, unowned and free,
Off-grid among the hills and trees.
It’s simple living far from town,
No city stress to weigh us down.
No endless wanting, frantic strife—
just wholesome work and grounded life.
We brew hibiscus sun tea bright,
Petals steeped in warm daylight.
Nourished by the day’s jubilee,
A simple drink, made perfectly.
Having faith in nature’s wisdom,
in her language clear and old,
Brings a quiet independence,
a peace not bought or sold.
The yoga deck lets bodies bend,
The open gym keeps strength our friend.
Neck and limbs all stretch and strain,
Good honest sweat, a happy gain.
Sunset spills on distant views,
The buena vista washed in hues.
Sauna stones are warmed with fire,
Sound bowls hum, then day retires.
Darkness deep, complete, and whole—
Sleep returns the borrowed soul.
This self-sufficient system rests on simple law:
Observe nature first— then align.
Care guides the hand,
Tending shapes the land.
Balance held by patient hands—
From this, abundance grows.
Sustainability in motion—
Not spoken or proclaimed,
But lived through daily devotion.
It is a labor of love.
Guided by more than profit above.
The physical, emotional, mental and spiritual plane,
Fall into harmony, steady and sane.
The motto is clear and true:
We work to live, not live to do.
The chores have purpose, weight, and grace—
Isn't life more than the chase?
This is home, where seeds are sown,
rooted deep, yet freely grown.
We work to live, not live to do—
una vida vivida, simple and true.
“The Good Reset” by artist Bob Moran