Sunday - 212th

It was getting to be late in the afternoon. I had started in on Sunday dinner, to be delivered to my daughter tonight, but I had paused to help Ed with his farmette project. Except that things derailed and now here I am, frantically pouring nearly a cupful of olive oil on my head, extra virgin no less, while Ed looks on. I am a mess.

How did we get to this point? 

Well, it was a normal start to a day. Breakfast, on the porch, though it's a stretch. No more heatwave.

... With a view toward a very pretty crab apple. That tree looks its best in the spring and fall. We're witnessing its ruby gold glow now.

Ed then returns to the project of the tree. He'd promised to attend to it this fall (when the flower beds, bearing the brunt of fallen limbs, would not suffer) and this weekend he'd started in on trimming the branches as best as he could. The dead tree is precariously positioned, smack halfway between two problems: the house and the power lines. If it falls on either, we're in trouble.

 

All day long, he saws and trims and I help stack the fallen branches. This really does take up the better part of the day.

Then comes the most difficult part -- taking down the entire trunk, along with the one remaining upright branch. I wouldn't be much help here. Too, I'm not sure I want to watch. So I retreat to some of the flower fields to trim them for the coming season. And while I'm cutting down some invasives, I completely miss seeing the virginia stickseed plant growing to the side.

I hate this plant. I know, hate is a strong word, but the seeds of this horror cling to everything! You walk past it and your pants, socks, shoes are covered with little burrs. Impossible to remove! Well, today, in bending down to snip back some invasives, I get my head, my head close enough to the stinker that dozens, many many dozens of prickly burrs find a nice nesting place in my hair.

I have had enough experience with this sucker to know I am in trouble. There is absolutely no easy way to get the burrs out of hair and since I have so many of them, my scalp is fast matting into something that you couldn't invent for Halloween if you tried.

In desperation, I do the obvious: shower, pour lots of conditioner on my scalp, pinch, pull -- all of it. To no avail. I call in Ed for help. We google solutions. When all else fails, they say, you have to cut off the hair.

How do you think I'd look without hair? 

Like a person without hair.

One last recommendation -- pour vegetable oil on your head and twist and work each seed free. Hence the olive oil. And the greasy mess. And a good part of the afternoon spent on the couch, twisting and separating matted hair clumps and releasing stickseed, one sticking burr at a time. Dozens upon dozens...

We emerge victorious! I return to the delayed dinner, Ed returns to bringing down the tree. This is the toughest part for him. If it doesn't fall exactly where he wants it to fall, we either lose electricity or we get a hole in the roof.

He uses wedges, and saws, and green paint, and a good deal of thinking power.

 

And he succeeds! It falls to the ground, halfway between the two obstacles. Yeah!

I deliver the dinner to a hungry young family. As my daughter finishes up the details in the kitchen, I play ball with the kids. Across the fence. With enough distance to scare away any virus.

 

 

The little guy hasn't changed: he'll still bring me the ball...

 

I wont say how late it is before Ed and I sit down to our own evening meal. But, we're burr free and we have both electricity and a roof over our heads. We are grateful.