Dear Diary,

Another week, another haunting encounter with my farming peers. This week, I had the pleasure of getting to know the mother-daughter duo on the ranch. We’ll call them Flipsy and Floopsy (I’ll let you guess who’s who). They came here from the Czech Republic but made it adamantly clear they are not originally from there. I have an inkling they’re from SoHo, but that’s just a hunch. 

Flipsy and Floopsy are pretty normal save for a few key things: They have their own language that they use to communicate with each other, they call each other “babe” and they’re both very allergic to cow hair. The language, as I’ve deduced, is somewhere between Klingon and Mandarin. As to why they call each other “babe,” I could not guess, but it catches me more and more off guard every time I hear it. 

They don’t really do any work, given their allergies, but they do really seem to get along well with the chickens. They keep holding the chickens up to their ears and pretending to have conversations with them. I’ve come to find that Doctor Doolittle is Flipsy and Floopsy’s favorite film — the Eddie Murphy version, of course. When we broke for lunch yesterday, everyone started walking to the cafeteria, but Flipsy and Floopsy just walked into the woods with one of the chickens. We have not heard from them since. 

XOXO,

Lena

Dear Diary, 

I have just arrived in Arkansas, and let me tell you: I have encountered a cast of characters like no other. It’s unclear to me just how many people actually live and work on this farm I have found, but each day holds a new bounty of farce. Today, as I was eating my midday beet (I grew and harvested myself, obviously), I met him. His name is Farmer Derek — yes, God given — and he’s got more than just a green thumb, if you know what I mean. His entire arm was stained green after a horrible accident involving a tractor and a tub of farm-grown, USDA certified, organic nuclear waste. 

He was born and raised on the farm. In fact, he’s never left the property. I’ve asked around about him, and no one can honestly remember who his parents were or where they came from, but it’s clear they left eons ago. I heard they were menenists. Or was it mennonites? Only time will tell. The property adjacent to ours is raising a pack of beagles, and it is rumored that Farmer Derek spent ages five to eleven only in their care. I’ll be honest, that would explain a lot. On my first day, I asked him if we were able to consume any of the produce we grew on site. He joked and said, “absofruitly not, but if you want milk, you gotta take it straight from the teet.” And then he looked erotically at this cow. If I’m being perfectly candid, I don’t think he was totally joking. But he’s really hot.

Until we speak again, Diary.

XOXO,

Lena