ferris farm, upstate new york // abegg adventures on film

Today I’m sharing photos from our last visit to upstate New York, to a place our family lovingly refers to as “The Farm;” because tomorrow, after four long years, Hachi and I are finally going back.

My family history is one of so many nuances–distances, diseases, diaspora, divorce–but I have also known many good fortunes in the form of “the simple things in life,” and I feel rich with good memories. Among my most favorite childhood memories is visiting The Farm, the very place my mother and her family visited when she was young. We always road tripped there, and I can imagine that we arrived in a heap of sweat and sweet relief, breathing in the same fresh air of our ancestors and their ancestors. In between long mornings of reading, swims in the damned river/pool, our famous farm lunches, and firefly-lit dinners on long tables in the field (repeat repeat repeat), we reconnect over shared histories and newly discovering each other again and again.

The Farm is sensory overload in the most primal and beautiful way one could imagine, but it’s the people who make that so. My Aunt Betty–my mom’s cousin–and her husband Uncle Bob, left an indelible mark on my formative years. Uncle Bob, unbeknownst to him I’m sure, made me feel welcomed and like a whole person, during a time when I felt that nobody could. I never did see him again once I became an adult, or thank him for the feeling of empowerment that he gave me; however, I was able to see Aunt Betty four years ago and then one more time before the pandemic hit, and before she herself passed on. Years, decades, even generations and centuries can pass, and not much changes at The Farm; but I’m so incredibly thankful that I got to bring my own family there to experience it while Aunt Betty was still at the helm of this great family treasure.

She was Irish just as my mother is, and with that I always thought there was a staunchness by blood, and have been told and shown that in our family secrets were to be held, and nothing more than niceties are to be spoken. I’ve felt shamed for my curiosity in life, the one truth I’ve had as my own. Aunt Betty however; Aunt Betty asked questions, told the truth, respected curiosity, read avidly, and with the distinct cool quiet of the Irish but the warmth of a modern woman, she asked me of my story and openly told me hers. 

When I knew Aunt Betty was not long for this world and sent her my goodbye, I said, “all these years you have been the proof that I’ve needed to know that one can be from this family, and still be okay.” Her response was that she thinks I was okay all along. After a lifetime of feeling less than okay in my place in my family, in my body, in my culture, in my identity, I guess that’s all I needed to hear all this time. 

I’m excited to go back to this distant home of mine; one that’s housed memories and a feeling of peace, and even a feeling of belonging. Aunt Betty will be sorely missed, but I know I’ll feel her everywhere while I’m there… her sharp connection to all that she has created in this world, and her sweet rituals like warming milk before bed and the sound of her body sliding into the farm pool each morning. There are small movements that keep us bound to the world and to each other, and I hope to never take any of them for granted.

{also pictured: many cute cousins, second cousins, first cousins once removed, etc etc etc. i love you all}