I came back from D.C. early yesterday, absolutely depleted. That’s (for me) not a very good blogging situation and I momentarily considered giving Ocean a few days’ rest.
Instead, I gave Ocean and a significant number of other things, only one night’s rest.
How can it be -- such a quick recovery? For me, it's a question of scaling back to the basics. Today, the farmers were out, raking, tilling, sowing, in the most straightforward ways and I could think of little else. They rent land next to Ed’s farmette and the day isn’t long enough to absorb it all. My photos tell only part of the story, but they are better than no story at all. So, here you go. Even more than the farmers markets that are about to explode this week-end in Madison, these people truly herald the beginning of the good seasons.
Every Sunday when I was a child our family would attend early Mass, then visit one or the other set of grandparents. One of my earliest memories is helping my paternal grandfather plant his rather large vegetable garden, the pleasure of his company as we cared for the growing plants Sunday after Sunday and finally harvesting the vegetables as they ripened. I vividly remember the first sweet peas we had fresh from that garden. There was something so satisfying about sitting with my indulgent grandfather shelling those fresh peas. I can even see the big white enamel bowl we placed the peas into, smell the fresh aroma, and think of the repetitive action of snap - string - shell, as we talked and worked. Thank you for taking me back to my childhood.
ReplyDeleteI'm a farm girl through and through. I can smell the dirt, feel the wind and hear the tractors.
ReplyDeleteWhat's dear though is remembering my grandparents and their farms and my time with them there.
Very special.