The Bell Farm

The fire

The coral-rock ring on its crushed-concrete apron, the pine stumps kept as seats, the dining tent lit behind it, moonlights high in the slash pines, muhly grass glowing at the edge. Every evening at the park starts here.

Under canvas

The 20'×40' hall on its king-post timber frame, roof rolled back, one long table for twenty-five under cage pendants and string lights, the planting brought right to the canvas edge. AMERICA cooks ten feet away.

The way in

Foxtail palms in threes, Simpson's stopper clipped into balls at eight feet, bollard lights between them, the Clusia hedge closing the view — the whole drive in crushed concrete from the keypad gate to the house.

Doodle Bug at dusk

Three long rows in black pots between the clipped hedge and the hoop house, the cedar companion beds at the front, bollards lighting the crushed-concrete walk, royal palms over the canal line. Families walk the rows at golden hour.

The bannik and the quay

The dark-timber bannik under its standing-seam roof, the glazed wall glowing from the wood stove, a towel on the porch, the ipe deck stepping down to three tanks in a triangle fed from the planted bog tank, the lily pond lit from under the water, bamboo and red banana closing it in.

The Bannik. In the villages along the Dnieper the bathhouse had a keeper — an old man made of steam who lived behind the stove. You left him bread, salt and soap on the bench. You never took the third steam of the night; that was his. You did not boast in his room. Treat the heat with respect and he blessed the house; mock it and the stones hissed back. The last stone we lay at our stove is for him.

Soweto Village

The reefer on the left with the 30' corrugated gate rolled along it, the two black container studios, the covered wellness deck between them, bougainvillea over the PBR fence, banana at the corners, the crushed-concrete court under motion lights. Rough on purpose, still green.

Cluck cluck

The open barn under its metal roof with the timber coop along the back wall, the hardware-cloth run, ducks on the pool on the gravel pad, the bench and the hand-wash station in the encounter pen, kids at the fence, the sugarcane standing behind.

Meet the bees

Guests suiting up at the corrugated bee shed, the 4' gate open through the Clusia hedge, the white hives on the mown strip along the canal, the sun going down behind the palms. The last stop of the evening.

¡Viva la caña!

Behind Soweto Village the cane stands twelve feet tall. On the pad: the cast-iron press on a red drum with a white star, juice running into a tin cup, a bottle of aquavit and two shot glasses sweating on the lid, a '55 Chevy fender at the edge, the mural on the container in Havana pastel. All nine views are in.