We’ve been shaking beetles from the wild roses that grow so
abundantly here at the farmette (well, they grow abundantly when there isn’t a
drought and a heat wave). Down they go (if our aim is good) into a dish with
soapy water.
Typically Ed leaves bugs, all bugs, even annoying wasps alone. But the
beetles can make a ghost out of a bush pretty quickly and they have the
audacity to do it in pairs, often seeming to be copulating at the same time
that they’re devouring the newest growth. Sort of like having your cake and
eating it during sex. Enough already! Leave these stressed plants
alone. Plop. Another pair hits the soapy water. Ed says we’re exercising the Amygdala of our brain. Fine. So long as we're flicking off beetles.
So many of our plants rebounded with the rains and cooling temps.
Unfortunately the meteorological down swing lasted less than one day. We’re
picking up the degrees now quickly, too quickly. As fast as as plopping beetles
into what is becoming beetle porridge. Last I checked it was 83 outside.
Tomorrow it’s supposed to go to 96. By Monday – 103. Short-lived joy. The
drought continues.
And still, it was a beautiful morning. The kind with blue
skies and blue dishes with blueberries on the porch table, which has a blue tablecloth.
Like the rest of the country, I read the news of the day and
of course, that surely puts a stop to those beautiful feelings of peace and
quiet and summertime contenment. It’s impossible to be happy when others are so deeply hurting.
Ed reminds me that we are a less violent society than we were decades or
centuries ago and I know he is correct and yet on days like this, it’s hard
to believe that this is the case.
We walk to inspect the tomatoes out back. Isis joins us
in what is a favorite stroll for us. Bounty indeed. They’re doing well back
there. Watching tomatoes grow is very reassuring.
(The peaches are coming along as well. Here, take a look.)
Today I also replace spent flowers along the brick walk leading to
our door. The lilies bloomed and withered in the heat (they’ll be back next
year) and they have been further insulted by a deer who, in our absence, took to
nesting in their midst, as if it were merely a bed created for the buck’s pleasure.
At Johannsen’s Greenhouse most everything is sold and gone
and what's left is discounted. That’s good. A few sunflowers, zinnias, sweet
smelling alyssum – things that will not shrivel against the bracing heat.
We bike to Paul’s again. There, Ed sleeps, I write and after, on our way
back, we hit the tennis courts again. I neglected to take my tennies (well,
hiking shoes) and so I play in sandals which is both amusing and awkward. But I’m
getting better or Ed is getting worse or maybe we’re just getting to be
slightly more like the other, which doesn’t surprise me at all. Eating same
foods, moving along similar paths does that to people.
In the evening I reheat our chicken soup and I make an
Aperol spritz – with a slice of orange for added zest.
There’s a reason to read and write about these trivial elements of the everyday: they are what makes life grand. Better than grand.
Sigh...
Sigh...
