A colder day. From nearly every corner and perspective.
There was a time when temperatures in the high fifties would have seemed utterly luxuriant. When a breeze and a slight shower -- a sign of good things to come. When a walk through the farmette land on a pavement of green grasses -- heavenly.
Today was not such a day.
Yes, I let the chickens out at dawn...
... and they are happy.
Yes, we have breakfast on the porch. But it is a chilly breakfast. I nearly put everything back on the tray and retreat.
For the rest of the day, Ed hides out in the sheep shed and I hide out in the farmhouse and that is just fine, because that harmonious work pace we'd maintained has stalled, as if somehow the wind has derailed us and we can't quite climb back on track again. Not today, anyway.
The chickens are puzzled. Were is everyone? - they seem to say. Oh, they try to trick me! They amble over to the big flower bed and scratch and dig and I'm sure destroy more than one leaf out there. But I stay put, trying hard not to twitch in exasperation.
When Ed and I finally do come out, we focus on all the piddly things that are not working well this year: the asparagus bed that refuses to sprout asparagus. The strawberry bed with half the leaves chewed away. And so on.
By evening we are slightly more inclined to join forces again and labor on, but it is late and so we leave the farmette to go out to dinner - a real treat of mussels and fries downtown. It starts to drizzles and then rain and then flash lightening with loud rumbles of thunder. I'm sure all the noise and wetness caused the chickens to disappear under the cars in the driveway back home.
It was a warm and tasty dinner.
The hope is that tomorrow somehow the winds will push us back into our working mode where I chop and he saws or I dig and he heaves or however else we have worked out this harmonious partnership that has managed to create a little bit of paradise around us.
There was a time when temperatures in the high fifties would have seemed utterly luxuriant. When a breeze and a slight shower -- a sign of good things to come. When a walk through the farmette land on a pavement of green grasses -- heavenly.
Today was not such a day.
Yes, I let the chickens out at dawn...
... and they are happy.
Yes, we have breakfast on the porch. But it is a chilly breakfast. I nearly put everything back on the tray and retreat.
For the rest of the day, Ed hides out in the sheep shed and I hide out in the farmhouse and that is just fine, because that harmonious work pace we'd maintained has stalled, as if somehow the wind has derailed us and we can't quite climb back on track again. Not today, anyway.
The chickens are puzzled. Were is everyone? - they seem to say. Oh, they try to trick me! They amble over to the big flower bed and scratch and dig and I'm sure destroy more than one leaf out there. But I stay put, trying hard not to twitch in exasperation.
When Ed and I finally do come out, we focus on all the piddly things that are not working well this year: the asparagus bed that refuses to sprout asparagus. The strawberry bed with half the leaves chewed away. And so on.
By evening we are slightly more inclined to join forces again and labor on, but it is late and so we leave the farmette to go out to dinner - a real treat of mussels and fries downtown. It starts to drizzles and then rain and then flash lightening with loud rumbles of thunder. I'm sure all the noise and wetness caused the chickens to disappear under the cars in the driveway back home.
It was a warm and tasty dinner.
The hope is that tomorrow somehow the winds will push us back into our working mode where I chop and he saws or I dig and he heaves or however else we have worked out this harmonious partnership that has managed to create a little bit of paradise around us.
