rebellion, part 2

I put on Mozart to drown out those rebellious thoughts (go out, go out! Do the yard work! It's a beautiful afternoon! Take a break, take a break!).

Ed is working on ripping off the porch roof. We have a window of good weather next week. It would be wonderful if the installation could begin then.

[A commenter asks if we're sacrificing cool summer days on the porch by introducing so much light. It's a valid question and one that kept us from doing anything for the first several years. But consider the arguments in favor of moving forward: first and foremost, the loss of light in the kitchen is, for me, tremendous! I can never work there without a light on. Five huge windows in the room and still it is always dark. And, secondly, the porch is completely north facing, with huge shade trees to the east and to the west and the backdrop of the house to the south. It most likely will retain plenty of shade. In the alternative, we'll either drape a few shades -- easy to do with tension rods and beautiful fabric -- or we'll put a nice, tilting umbrella over the table. And finally, Wisconsin has a few hot weeks, but even these typically have cool mornings and evenings. On balance! let there be light!]

The Mozart is serene and soothing, but my work stalls. I want that break so badly! The weather is near perfect Too hot! -- Ed says, but I'm not convinced. He's sweating as he comes down from the roof, but he's been up there and I've been down here, in the house and I want that last dose of Fall sunshine!

Maybe we can work on the raspberry bed?  The weekend is before me. I'm catching up! Breakaway!

I see in Ed a fleeting hesitation. He looks tired. 
But he wont pass on a chance to make progress outside. Or maybe it's that he knows how much being trapped indoors has affected me these weeks.
Okay. Let's get the shovels.

And so we go back to the patch and we dig and rip and dig some more and in the end I put such energy into these two hours of physical work, that we clear more today than in all previous days put together.






And then it's back to Mozart and patient reading and slowly the day turns into evening. I close the books and step outside again. It's a heavenly time of day.






Want to go to Menards with me? This from Ed: he needs to pick up lumber and screws and various roofy things and it's my turn to return a favor and go along.

And so we take the truck and load two by fours by twleves and one by twos and fours and I have to say that in the end, this may have been the best part of the day yet. There is something singularly special about picking through boards and loading the old pick up, hoping that they'll not jiggle off on the ride home.

A trip to Menards is not just a functional stop for building supplies. We always pause in various aisles, like the country folk who haven't seen the insides a city store for a long time, and this time, we notice that Christmas lights are on sale already and we spend a good half hour making the hefty decision as to how we should light the farmhouse doorway this holiday season.

It's dark by the time we get back home. The long boards can spend the night on the truck. We stumble in and reheat chili. With garden tomatoes for the salad. I have with me the feeling of a day well spent.






We wake up to yet another glorious morning of sunshine. A walk in the garden, then breakfast in the sun room. Just because.