THE NIGHT BEFORE THE HOLIDAY MARKET* 2025, 16th Edition *
Merry Christmas & Happy New Year from Summit Farms – Mitch & Michelle, and Sadie

T’was the night before the Market Holiday,
The SUV laden with produce and hay,
When all through the land,
All the Blue Jays were stirring, English Walnuts in hand.

Wishes and dreams were hung by the burn-pile with care,
Believing that St. Oly soon would be there.
The old folks were nestled all snug in their roles,
While visions of veggies danced in their souls.

Michelle in her robe, and me in my PJs,
Had another busy farm day in our new life-phase.
When out in the room there arose such a clatter,
Zoey sprang from the table to see what’s the matter.

Away to the window she flew like a flash,
Tore open the drapes with her terrible-tail-sash.
The yellow-moon highlights the white winter-snow,
From Rainier to the Doug firs below.

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But inspiration and motivation that was totally clear.
Our family farms are built to thrive, not dependent on the Dow.

Our loving seeds and starts we tend and grow,
From organic seeds we buy and sow.
And row-crops to be planted after the last-frost alarm.

Then to the Oly Market, where shoppers swarm,
Plus, with Farm to School, kids can eat from local farms.
With Eat Local First, everyone can also support our dairy barns!

But just then, in a twinkling, I heard in the room…
The prancing and pawing of Billy the Baaad Goat,(On The Vivid Voyage Home, one should note!).
After I watered our garlic and shallots, and was turning around,
St. Oly came down the wood-burning stove-chimney with a bound.

He was dressed in Carhartt overalls with modern growing solutions,
And his clothes were tarnished with blackberry-intrusions.
Food Banks he would support from his Pioneer sack,
And he looked like a Native American with his deerskin pack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! His joy was so merry!
Even in the freezing fog, his demeanor was so uncommonly cheery!
His opinion of conservation-based farming was deep and strong,
And if he held any agency grudges, they weren’t for very long.

Visions of The Bountiful Byway, he held tight in his teeth,
Thoughts of happy agri-tourists encircled his head like a wreath.

He had an idealistic face but a business-driven belly,
That shook when he tractored, like a bowlful of jelly.

Wearing a Kubota trucker-hat, he was a jolly old gent,
His farm-life smell followed wherever he went,
Bringing a trail of his nourishing manure cologne-scent.

A request for sun and rain; then a twist of his head,
Soon revealed to the farmers we had nothing to dread.

Like farm-hands do, he spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Filled us with imagination; then turned with a jerk,
Smiling and striking an Instagram pose,
With a wink and a wave, up the table he rose.

Sprang to his autonomous flying sleigh, and gave a whistle,
We were again filled with Peace and Hope, like a spotted frog to a thistle.

And we heard him exclaim, so all could hear:

“From Summit Farms, Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good-Year,
And may all the Farms be filled with High-Yields and a Big Cheer!

© Mitch A Lewis, 2025
* AI-Assist Free Always