The strangest thing about this farming season so far is that, being at PVF east rather than west, the farm is much closer in to the city, in the middle of the suburban swath between Tysons Corner and Reston/Sterling. Out at West, the farm is 60 acres, so you spend the entirety of your week sheltered from the world, mostly. You see the seven people you work with, you do your work, and that’s that. When a member of the general public accidentally drives into the farm looking for directions or to buy produce, it feels like an alien invasion.

But at East, as you can see in the picture above, there is literally a high-end subdivision of multi-million dollar homes right smack in the middle of the farm. To get to the largest of our fields, we have to whizz through the paved streets of the neighborhood on golf carts, dodging Fed Ex trucks and Lexus SUVs and housewives walking the dog. It never ceases to crack me up, since nine times out of ten, I’m covered in hay or mud or both, with two knives on my hip, jamming through in the golf cart with the roof sawed off, carrying 9 crates of spinach and three large hoes. It feels much more…exposed. But maybe that’s exactly what fancy-pants Tysons Corner dwellers need. “Welcome to your food chain, motherfuckers!”

Topless the golfcart in a rare moment of repose.