It is hard for me to understand how I've gotten to be so intensely busy in these first beautiful days of my "time off." My to-do lists -- work-wise and farmette-wise -- are getting to be so long, that I no longer think that a day can accommodate everything. So I spend night hours thinking, imagining, planning. And when the first morning light filters in and Isis moves from bed to table to bed again, Ed asks -- you want to go out and plant some more tomatoes?
And I say -- no, no, we can't, it's still dark!
It's not really dark dark, but I'm glad I can at least argue darkness because I am so tired, too tired. One more hour, just one more hour of sleep.
But by 7, Ed is out at the tomato patch, planting.
I join him. We work in quiet companionship, sharing a small shovel, sharing, too, thoughts about the state of the little tomato plants.
We plant them too closely, of that I'm sure. If all goes well, we'll have a jungle of growth here in early fall. I'll leave the harvest to Ed. Wait, harvest? That comes at the last minute of summer! I can't think that far ahead.
Late in the morning we pause for breakfast. On the porch. This is the slow moment. The one that you don't want to let go of.
And then I am out again, this time with the strawberries. I dig more holes than I need (they come in bundles of 10 or 25). And so Ed picks up more bundles of berries. And I need even more holes.
It continues like this all day long. When my back feels stiff, I go inside and do a little computer work. And then I'm out again.
There's progress in all of the flower beds. You may not see it, but I do.
And there's seasonal progress too, here at the farmette. For example, today, the first blooms apear on the old orchard trees. The ancient sour cherry paves the way.
It's evening now. Supper time. Something easy. Summerlike. Chicken brats again? Yes.
And now my eyes are closing and mistakes wil start creeping into the blog post again. Besides, I need to be up early. Not to plant tomatoes, but to catch the 5 am bus to Chicago.