Sitting on the porch for breakfast, we feel the cool morning air. I have a sweater on and I know Ed's a little chilled, even though he would never say so.
What he does say is -- I'm going to miss those flowers in the winter time.
So this is it, that period in time that can't even be imagined in the cold season. Summer, a lush and plentiful summer where there was enough rain and enough sunshine to make our gardens grow.
And it seems so much part of our world now, even though in three months, it will all be gone. All of it. Pffft! Gone.
I spend the morning deadheading. Snipping off spent blooms to encourage one more run. It's a beautiful time to work outside: the air is a cool 70 degrees, the wind refreshes and blows mosquitoes away to some distant hiding place. Can it be more perfect?
In the early afternoon, our truck framer who grows potatoes, onions and garlic in the back of the farmette, asks us to mow down her weeds for another planting run. Ed works his John Deere in exchange for a bucket of potatoes and a bagful of garlic.
And then he and I have a date! A movie and a dinner -- both frivolous and a bit of a joke, because the movie is a fun but silly little thing about restauranteurs squabbling in the south of France (a poke at the Ed who refuses to go back to my beloved Sorede exactly in that region) and the "dinner out" isn't really out at all, or at least it isn't one where we sit down across from each other at a table elsewhere; it's one where we pick up take out food at our favorite Thai place and bring it home.
Home. Where the flowers grow and the world is kind and calm and he cheepers look at me with hopeful eyes every time I pass them in the garden.
What he does say is -- I'm going to miss those flowers in the winter time.
So this is it, that period in time that can't even be imagined in the cold season. Summer, a lush and plentiful summer where there was enough rain and enough sunshine to make our gardens grow.
And it seems so much part of our world now, even though in three months, it will all be gone. All of it. Pffft! Gone.
I spend the morning deadheading. Snipping off spent blooms to encourage one more run. It's a beautiful time to work outside: the air is a cool 70 degrees, the wind refreshes and blows mosquitoes away to some distant hiding place. Can it be more perfect?
In the early afternoon, our truck framer who grows potatoes, onions and garlic in the back of the farmette, asks us to mow down her weeds for another planting run. Ed works his John Deere in exchange for a bucket of potatoes and a bagful of garlic.
And then he and I have a date! A movie and a dinner -- both frivolous and a bit of a joke, because the movie is a fun but silly little thing about restauranteurs squabbling in the south of France (a poke at the Ed who refuses to go back to my beloved Sorede exactly in that region) and the "dinner out" isn't really out at all, or at least it isn't one where we sit down across from each other at a table elsewhere; it's one where we pick up take out food at our favorite Thai place and bring it home.
Home. Where the flowers grow and the world is kind and calm and he cheepers look at me with hopeful eyes every time I pass them in the garden.
