Salt of the Earth
It is immediately noticeable, as you distance yourself from the concrete jungle of high rises and Starbucks, the rear-view mirror becomes a reflection of gentrification and uneducated drivers.
If you’ve ever been around these parts, whether to visit a local orchard come apple picking season or to visit the hand full of pubs, you have most likely noticed the pungent scent of manure in the air. But believe me it grows on you! It’s the sign that a new season is upon us, and the cycle begins once again.
I’m new to town, but certainly not unfamiliar. I grew up three towns over. In an old native stomping ground, a border town, a map dot overflowing with endless stories. Most of the storytellers consist of my friends, my family, and friendly acquaintances.
Every single one of them… salt of the earth.
They’ll gladly give you the shirt off their back, and it might have been yours once before. It’s because we share out here, help one another, do everything out of the kindness of our hearts, which are worn on our sleeve.
This town is built off a collaborative effort to live a true and meaningful life, as well as to cultivate, not only crops, but a beautiful environment. To keep a community together for generations to come.
I’m proud of where I’m from, I’m proud of each and every person I know.
I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Christopher Pilozzi
*This poem is an excerpt from Christopher Pilozzi’s recently published collection of poems and letters entitled Living Room Love Letter.