My Lovely Wife, fishing, being outdoors, listening to the line rip off my reel, lying in the grass watchin clouds & jet streams, being adored by my dog Sadie, taking in all I possibly can of God's creation, the stillness of night in our quiet part of the world, anything outdoors
Hood River Lavender Farms Hood River, Oregon US owner plant
2003-present
joe orcutt sorry folks, I don't get on here much anymore. Facebook has been where I post pretty much daily: http://lnk.ms/3FgYG and also here: http://lnk.ms/4h39vPosted at 2:02 AM Dec 2 view more
About me: I am a professional Lavender grower/distiller/propagator/husband/step-dad/grandfather in Hood River, Oregon. My Wife and I own/operate a certified organic U-PICK farm, where we host Lavender Daze Festivals, events, weddings, and a special place for personal parties. Our farm is in a stunning setting with views of Mt.Hood, Mt.Adams and the Hood River Valley below.
We have a online website: www.hoodriverlavender.com
and also a blog:
http://hoodriverlavender.blogspot.com/
where we post lots of info, pictures, and specials including a Monthly Contest where you can win FREE STUFF!
Who I'd like to meet: July 12 & 13, 2008-4th Annual Lavender DAZE Festival! Check out our 3rd Annual Lavender DAZE Festival we had last July on our farm:
2007 Lavender DAZE Festival
I LOVE your farm! It looks amazing! I would love to visit it one day! Thank you for adding me as a friend, I look forward to getting to know you guys in this new year! Love & Peace, God Bless, Becky Wishing you the best of health for 2008 www.scmiracles.com www.beckynelson.stemtechbiz.com
Snowflakes Out of the bosom of the Air, Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken, Over the woodlands brown and bare, Over the harvest-fields forsaken, Silent, and soft, and slow Descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take Suddenly shape in some divine expression, Even as the troubled heart doth make In the white countenance confession, The troubled sky reveals The grief it feels.
This is the poem of the air, Slowly in silent syllables recorded; This is the secret of despair, Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded, Now whispered and revealed To wood and field.
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