As we pause between tennis plays, Ed says to me (not for the first time) -- I can't believe you're leaving now, in the middle of harvest!
He likes to tease me. He knows that people (many people) poke at me for constantly leaving, traveling, crossing the ocean, leaving. I'll hear it many more times from him -- I can't believe you're off again! When I counter with -- I can't believe you're not going with me! he grins and says -- you'll have a great time.
But he is right in one detail -- I'm leaving at a time of good harvest days. The garden? That's peaked. I am now keeping it going in the same way you keep yourself going even though your hair is gray and your arms sag. August 15 -- you can still pretend that your perennial bed's in top form, but by the 16th, you better hang it up. No credible gardner will believe you if you say things are great out there in the flower beds.
Even if the photos look fairly okay.
Watering the beds today (in anticipation of a week with no rain in Madison), I could tell that I was merely covering up the inevitable. The flowers are fading. Fall is around the bend.
But on the issue of harvest -- is it true? Am I taking off just when the blush on the strawberry is at its most perfect?
And, too, Ed picked dozens of tomatoes today. I cleaned and cut them for freezing. Cucumbers are brining, the corn is about ready. And the peaches!
Ah, the peaches! They're our fruit staple right now. So I turn my back on all this and go?
Well now, let's not get too dramatic: we've been harvesting one thing or another since early June and it wont end for another month or so. And, too, I'm not going for long. By the end of the month, I'll be back, ready to pluck the corn off the immense stalks out back.
All this by way of introducing trip number eight thousand two hundred and ninety six, or so. Tomorrow is a travel day. Blogging will become erratic until I get to where I'm going. Stay with me while I figure out the new routines of a different schedule.
I'll check back here tomorrow, I hope. Probably from Detroit. En route.
Good night for now. From my beloved farmhouse. Half in shade now, getting ready for fall.
He likes to tease me. He knows that people (many people) poke at me for constantly leaving, traveling, crossing the ocean, leaving. I'll hear it many more times from him -- I can't believe you're off again! When I counter with -- I can't believe you're not going with me! he grins and says -- you'll have a great time.
But he is right in one detail -- I'm leaving at a time of good harvest days. The garden? That's peaked. I am now keeping it going in the same way you keep yourself going even though your hair is gray and your arms sag. August 15 -- you can still pretend that your perennial bed's in top form, but by the 16th, you better hang it up. No credible gardner will believe you if you say things are great out there in the flower beds.
Even if the photos look fairly okay.
Watering the beds today (in anticipation of a week with no rain in Madison), I could tell that I was merely covering up the inevitable. The flowers are fading. Fall is around the bend.
But on the issue of harvest -- is it true? Am I taking off just when the blush on the strawberry is at its most perfect?
And, too, Ed picked dozens of tomatoes today. I cleaned and cut them for freezing. Cucumbers are brining, the corn is about ready. And the peaches!
Ah, the peaches! They're our fruit staple right now. So I turn my back on all this and go?
Well now, let's not get too dramatic: we've been harvesting one thing or another since early June and it wont end for another month or so. And, too, I'm not going for long. By the end of the month, I'll be back, ready to pluck the corn off the immense stalks out back.
All this by way of introducing trip number eight thousand two hundred and ninety six, or so. Tomorrow is a travel day. Blogging will become erratic until I get to where I'm going. Stay with me while I figure out the new routines of a different schedule.
I'll check back here tomorrow, I hope. Probably from Detroit. En route.
Good night for now. From my beloved farmhouse. Half in shade now, getting ready for fall.
