Plerk - Unplugged

Back in the rocking chair, my cue is that it’s time to write. I sit with openness, the smell of freshly brewed coffee that I let sit, untouched until an hour after I awake because it's better like that.

A lime-green cigar-sized lizard with an electric yellow stripe running down its length gives away his position by dropping a turd just to my left– the sound of which pings off the empty metal chair like a meditation bell. I know it’s just another happening but I can’t help but see it as an omen: tune in.

I see his sister on the edge of the burnt orange-painted patio thrusting her body up and down as if she’s training. Another sign from the universe, I think to myself.

I’m all yours, I whisper to the little family that has been sharing their habitat with me for the past three days. Thanks, I whisper again.

Like the bullet of a Nerf gun, the youngest of the family, a darker coat than the rest, projectiles to a downed log out front, crouches, and waits. Tracking with the intensity required of any hunter worth her weight in salt, she spots a lonesome dragonfly moving her way. At once, the lizard gains momentum bounding to the stalk of the yucca plant, pivots up the trunk, and redirects off the leaf to extend her tongue, mid-air, to snag her breakfast.

Let's fucking go, I think to myself, that was sick.

After returning to her perch, she throbs her gullet as if to flex but I’m sure she was just digesting, like I’ve only seen in Nat Geo docs.

I wonder to myself, was the lizard working or playing? I’m both saddened and thankful that I won’t ever be able to know the answer to this question.

As I look out to the farm beyond the lizard, however, I see Rey swinging his machete at the banana tree like a skilled fencing competitor. A stalk of bananas falls and he catches the end just before the bananas strike the ground.

“If they hit the ground they bruise!” He yells at me while laughing. “We’ll eat these ones for breakfast!”

Come blend the boundaries of play and work with us this Oct. 4th - 8th in Peacham, VT for the third Unplugged Field Trip— Harvest edition.

Deets here, tell your friends.

Back in the rocking chair, my cue is that it’s time to write. I sit with openness, the smell of freshly brewed coffee that I let sit, untouched until an hour after I awake because it's better like that.

A lime-green cigar-sized lizard with an electric yellow stripe running down its length gives away his position by dropping a turd just to my left– the sound of which pings off the empty metal chair like a meditation bell. I know it’s just another happening but I can’t help but see it as an omen: tune in.

I see his sister on the edge of the burnt orange-painted patio thrusting her body up and down as if she’s training. Another sign from the universe, I think to myself.

I’m all yours, I whisper to the little family that has been sharing their habitat with me for the past three days. Thanks, I whisper again.

Like the bullet of a Nerf gun, the youngest of the family, a darker coat than the rest, projectiles to a downed log out front, crouches, and waits. Tracking with the intensity required of any hunter worth her weight in salt, she spots a lonesome dragonfly moving her way. At once, the lizard gains momentum bounding to the stalk of the yucca plant, pivots up the trunk, and redirects off the leaf to extend her tongue, mid-air, to snag her breakfast.

Let's fucking go, I think to myself, that was sick.

After returning to her perch, she throbs her gullet as if to flex but I’m sure she was just digesting, like I’ve only seen in Nat Geo docs.

I wonder to myself, was the lizard working or playing? I’m both saddened and thankful that I won’t ever be able to know the answer to this question.

As I look out to the farm beyond the lizard, however, I see Rey swinging his machete at the banana tree like a skilled fencing competitor. A stalk of bananas falls and he catches the end just before the bananas strike the ground.

“If they hit the ground they bruise!” He yells at me while laughing. “We’ll eat these ones for breakfast!”

Come blend the boundaries of play and work with us this Oct. 4th - 8th in Peacham, VT for the third Unplugged Field Trip— Harvest edition.

Deets here, tell your friends.

Back in the rocking chair, my cue is that it’s time to write. I sit with openness, the smell of freshly brewed coffee that I let sit, untouched until an hour after I awake because it's better like that.

A lime-green cigar-sized lizard with an electric yellow stripe running down its length gives away his position by dropping a turd just to my left– the sound of which pings off the empty metal chair like a meditation bell. I know it’s just another happening but I can’t help but see it as an omen: tune in.

I see his sister on the edge of the burnt orange-painted patio thrusting her body up and down as if she’s training. Another sign from the universe, I think to myself.

I’m all yours, I whisper to the little family that has been sharing their habitat with me for the past three days. Thanks, I whisper again.

Like the bullet of a Nerf gun, the youngest of the family, a darker coat than the rest, projectiles to a downed log out front, crouches, and waits. Tracking with the intensity required of any hunter worth her weight in salt, she spots a lonesome dragonfly moving her way. At once, the lizard gains momentum bounding to the stalk of the yucca plant, pivots up the trunk, and redirects off the leaf to extend her tongue, mid-air, to snag her breakfast.

Let's fucking go, I think to myself, that was sick.

After returning to her perch, she throbs her gullet as if to flex but I’m sure she was just digesting, like I’ve only seen in Nat Geo docs.

I wonder to myself, was the lizard working or playing? I’m both saddened and thankful that I won’t ever be able to know the answer to this question.

As I look out to the farm beyond the lizard, however, I see Rey swinging his machete at the banana tree like a skilled fencing competitor. A stalk of bananas falls and he catches the end just before the bananas strike the ground.

“If they hit the ground they bruise!” He yells at me while laughing. “We’ll eat these ones for breakfast!”

Come blend the boundaries of play and work with us this Oct. 4th - 8th in Peacham, VT for the third Unplugged Field Trip— Harvest edition.

Deets here, tell your friends.

Back in the rocking chair, my cue is that it’s time to write. I sit with openness, the smell of freshly brewed coffee that I let sit, untouched until an hour after I awake because it's better like that.

A lime-green cigar-sized lizard with an electric yellow stripe running down its length gives away his position by dropping a turd just to my left– the sound of which pings off the empty metal chair like a meditation bell. I know it’s just another happening but I can’t help but see it as an omen: tune in.

I see his sister on the edge of the burnt orange-painted patio thrusting her body up and down as if she’s training. Another sign from the universe, I think to myself.

I’m all yours, I whisper to the little family that has been sharing their habitat with me for the past three days. Thanks, I whisper again.

Like the bullet of a Nerf gun, the youngest of the family, a darker coat than the rest, projectiles to a downed log out front, crouches, and waits. Tracking with the intensity required of any hunter worth her weight in salt, she spots a lonesome dragonfly moving her way. At once, the lizard gains momentum bounding to the stalk of the yucca plant, pivots up the trunk, and redirects off the leaf to extend her tongue, mid-air, to snag her breakfast.

Let's fucking go, I think to myself, that was sick.

After returning to her perch, she throbs her gullet as if to flex but I’m sure she was just digesting, like I’ve only seen in Nat Geo docs.

I wonder to myself, was the lizard working or playing? I’m both saddened and thankful that I won’t ever be able to know the answer to this question.

As I look out to the farm beyond the lizard, however, I see Rey swinging his machete at the banana tree like a skilled fencing competitor. A stalk of bananas falls and he catches the end just before the bananas strike the ground.

“If they hit the ground they bruise!” He yells at me while laughing. “We’ll eat these ones for breakfast!”

Come blend the boundaries of play and work with us this Oct. 4th - 8th in Peacham, VT for the third Unplugged Field Trip— Harvest edition.

Deets here, tell your friends.