If the frost touched the tomatoes, I wouldn’t know it. In any case, I think we’re at the tail end of the growing season. All that was meant to be frozen for winter consumption is frozen. You could say we’re bracing for the first snow storm.
And man oh man, that was a chilly ride this morning. Had to rev it up, too. It’s too easy to set out just a half hour before class is to start. Then I worry and rush. It sets the tone of the day as one of rushing. I prefer a gentler approach. I’ll do better. Get up even earlier. When it’s still dark. Oh! That’s not that early these days!
By late afternoon, the air had warmed to a toasty 52. Scooting down to the café, I thought about how well I know the cracks in the road by now. The sync of the lights. All that. And still, taking Rosie out for a spin is always interesting. I ride pedantically, slowly, stopping for pedestrians. I am the older woman, with graying hair flying, leather jacket zipped tight. Around me, the youth weave in and out, shorts, no helmets, no protection against the elements (even as the elements are sunshine and wind, nothing more).
On the return trip, I have a food cart in front, a protest vehicle behind, and the mildly warm sun on my back.
Oh, I know Ocean has become about the trip there, the trip back. But believe me, the journey is that interesting.
It was even more interesting as Ed and I drove away in our respective motor bikes from the café toward the Fitchburg evening farmers market and then, squash, plums and onion in my back crate, home. It is unfortunate that I did not notice that the bag with the plums sprung a leak and so I left behind me a trail of the best European plums ever. Ed, riding behind me, noticed the Hansel and Gretel plums and attempted, in the midst of rush hour traffic, to pick up the fallen fruits. I was oblivious to it all, concentrating hard on staying warm.
We’re at the farmhouse now, a few plums with us, the rest, well, back in their natural setting. Yes, the journey is that interesting.
at the market