I’m on Capitol Square early. The original Madison farmers market. I am making the circle (can you make a circle around a square?) with my daughter before she takes off for the east coast. My younger girl is already a thousand miles away. Memorial Day week-end creates travel opportunities. Not for me though. Not right now. I'm here in Wisconsin, where the flowers are too brilliant to let go of just yet.
At Matt’s stand I meet an Ocean commenter. It’s terrific to come face to face with someone whom you sort of know but not really, even as you sure as hell like and have always liked his writing (and I don’t mean only that on Ocean). Hi george h.!
A good start to the day.
All other waking hours I spend toddling between exams and Ed’s land. I weed one space, then another and another. Whatever muscles are used for pulling out stubborn growth are going to be well developed by the end of the season.
I attack the asparagus patch, completely overgrown by, well, everything.
I grade exams.
We transplant offshoots of the lilac.
I grade some more.
The hostas: we transplant those as well.
Anthills on the raised bed, quack grass chocking flowers.
Ed tells me – go write your novel. (I’m not really writing a novel, but I get the point. I am spending an awful lot of time, too much time improving his land.)
At the café, Ed is thumbing through a local newspaper. He shows me an article that describes the work of an organization that helps immigrant or otherwise disenfranchised people with farm talent and an interest in organic farming in Dane County. Maybe some of the acres of the farmette could be put to good use by these people? Ed and I walk the land and consider the possibilities. Maybe. He makes the initial contact. I’m hopeful.
In fact, overall, I’m very hopeful.