You try hard not to have negative thoughts or opinions and then something comes your way that hits all your nerve points and you blurt out "hate" and then you feel like you maybe should have toned it down some.
That describes a good part of this morning.
It's a cloudy day and for the first time in a long time I sleep in. The animals are typically fed by 7:30, but this morning, I'm still dozing then and it isn't until 9 that I push myself to get going. I am shocked at the hour. I was that tired.
Overall, the garden seems weedy to me. This is unfair: there hasn't been much rain. Why the sudden proliferation of weeds? Have I not chipped the beds enough? So before I even get started on breakfast I weed.
(Clematis, climbing the sheep shed)
It's pleasant enough. The bugs are coming out just a little, but nothing severe. For our first day of summer, it's quite a good weather moment. The garden isn't flowering heavily yet, but there are signs that it's all just around the corner.
And then Ed comes out to move the old truck out of the driveway and into the concrete slab by the garage so that he can replace the rear spring hangers. There's a lot of rumbling and grumbling and eventually, he comes to me and says -- I can't make it move forward. Backwards -- yes. Forward -- no. Can you help?
What do you need me to do?
Put it in first, release the clutch and I'll try to see what's going on.
The truck is a pretty gross thing. The body, what's left of it, is all dents and rust. The windshield is cracked in a hundred places. The inside is perhaps worse. I wont post a photo. It will ruin your day. Still, I want to help, so I try to put it in gear and Ed watches from the ground up and everything stinks to high heaven and it still wont move forward.
This is when I say it: Ed, I hate this truck. I will never ever ride in it. It is beyond gross. I don't care if you fix it. It will never be okay in my book.
He knows this of course. Several years ago, when we drove out East in it, I spent one hundred precious dollars to fly back so that I wouldn't have to sit in it for one more minute. It's loud and stinky and it feels like all the insides will tumble out right there in the middle of the highway. Still, if he can fix it, he will. But right now it only drives backwards.
Maybe I could drive it backwards onto the road and turn it around at the intersection then back it up the driveway and toward the garage...
What if it gets stuck on the road?
This is where we pause for breakfast.
Everything seems more doable and sane after the morning meal and indeed, eventually he figures out what the blockage is and within an hour or so, he has it moving loudly forward, onto the concrete slab where he will conduct more extensive truck surgery for the rest of the day. A great part of me wishes that he will fail and that we'll have to dismember it and carry it out piece by piece each week in a garbage can, but I know Ed's genius for solving complicated problems, so my wish here is little more than an idle dream.
So let's switch to more positive feelings, because there is this greatness to the day.
Take my afternoon on the porch: it has a FaceTime with Primrose! Every week she is that much older, that much more playful and chatty.
Welcome to summer, little girl!
And speaking of summer, here's something that thrills me: the length of daylight up here, in the northern hemisphere. If I had to pick a favorite one day of the year, it would be this one. I mean, I do love a number of other seasonal milestones, but summer solstice is at the top of the heap. The lushness of the natural world, the long hours of daylight, the promise delivered.
(view from porch)
And let's not forget the appearance of so much fresh produce!
[Our CSA box still has tastes of spring. Rhubarb -- oh, no! We already filled two gallon sacks with our own chopped stalks, and loaded it in the freezer for the promise of rhubarb cake everyday this winter! Big fat red lettuces. Okay. Always useful, since we eat salads daily. Garlic scapes -- love them. Yay. And kale, in addition to the rainbow chard. Both? That's a lot of green leaves for one week. Parsley -- I grow my own, but fine, I'll use it. Baby turnips. They say you can eat them raw. Otherwise I'll have to roast them and pretend they're potatoes for a fish night. And here comes summer: Zucchini! Another veggie that I love and Ed is tame about. And the amazing local strawberries. Late spring, no?]
I'm 67 years old and I've yet to find a good way to commemorate this Midsummer's Day. June solstice. In Europe, the important June date is St. John's. But it can be confusing: the talk is of Midsummer, but the merrymaking doesn't track the seasonal shift. The festivities typically take place on the eve of St John's (June 23rd) or on the day itself. Music, bonfires, food. I loved being in the French Catalan provinces then. They add dance to the mix and it's all rather enchanting. So, too, in the Basque region. And I can't begin to give words to the beauty of a late June evening in Scotland, especially on the Isle of Islay. The sun does a quick exit after midnight, but it never really grows dark and within the hour it's back again, as if to tease you into thinking that the next day of gentle summer is well underway.
But I love summer solstice here, on the farmette as well. We wont have the late night sunset (remember, it's a cloudy day), but can I interest you in an evening rainbow?
Or in a deer, pausing to acknowledge the uniqueness of this day, this moment?
So it wasn't a time of music. And food for tonight is slated to be the second half of yesterday's frittata. But in my heart and soul, I know that this is the day that marks the success of the spirit: the dark days seemed interminable, but in fact, they did not last and now here we are, living in the light of the longest day and it is sublime.
That describes a good part of this morning.
It's a cloudy day and for the first time in a long time I sleep in. The animals are typically fed by 7:30, but this morning, I'm still dozing then and it isn't until 9 that I push myself to get going. I am shocked at the hour. I was that tired.
Overall, the garden seems weedy to me. This is unfair: there hasn't been much rain. Why the sudden proliferation of weeds? Have I not chipped the beds enough? So before I even get started on breakfast I weed.
(Clematis, climbing the sheep shed)
It's pleasant enough. The bugs are coming out just a little, but nothing severe. For our first day of summer, it's quite a good weather moment. The garden isn't flowering heavily yet, but there are signs that it's all just around the corner.
And then Ed comes out to move the old truck out of the driveway and into the concrete slab by the garage so that he can replace the rear spring hangers. There's a lot of rumbling and grumbling and eventually, he comes to me and says -- I can't make it move forward. Backwards -- yes. Forward -- no. Can you help?
What do you need me to do?
Put it in first, release the clutch and I'll try to see what's going on.
The truck is a pretty gross thing. The body, what's left of it, is all dents and rust. The windshield is cracked in a hundred places. The inside is perhaps worse. I wont post a photo. It will ruin your day. Still, I want to help, so I try to put it in gear and Ed watches from the ground up and everything stinks to high heaven and it still wont move forward.
This is when I say it: Ed, I hate this truck. I will never ever ride in it. It is beyond gross. I don't care if you fix it. It will never be okay in my book.
He knows this of course. Several years ago, when we drove out East in it, I spent one hundred precious dollars to fly back so that I wouldn't have to sit in it for one more minute. It's loud and stinky and it feels like all the insides will tumble out right there in the middle of the highway. Still, if he can fix it, he will. But right now it only drives backwards.
Maybe I could drive it backwards onto the road and turn it around at the intersection then back it up the driveway and toward the garage...
What if it gets stuck on the road?
This is where we pause for breakfast.
Everything seems more doable and sane after the morning meal and indeed, eventually he figures out what the blockage is and within an hour or so, he has it moving loudly forward, onto the concrete slab where he will conduct more extensive truck surgery for the rest of the day. A great part of me wishes that he will fail and that we'll have to dismember it and carry it out piece by piece each week in a garbage can, but I know Ed's genius for solving complicated problems, so my wish here is little more than an idle dream.
So let's switch to more positive feelings, because there is this greatness to the day.
Take my afternoon on the porch: it has a FaceTime with Primrose! Every week she is that much older, that much more playful and chatty.
Welcome to summer, little girl!
And speaking of summer, here's something that thrills me: the length of daylight up here, in the northern hemisphere. If I had to pick a favorite one day of the year, it would be this one. I mean, I do love a number of other seasonal milestones, but summer solstice is at the top of the heap. The lushness of the natural world, the long hours of daylight, the promise delivered.
(view from porch)
And let's not forget the appearance of so much fresh produce!
[Our CSA box still has tastes of spring. Rhubarb -- oh, no! We already filled two gallon sacks with our own chopped stalks, and loaded it in the freezer for the promise of rhubarb cake everyday this winter! Big fat red lettuces. Okay. Always useful, since we eat salads daily. Garlic scapes -- love them. Yay. And kale, in addition to the rainbow chard. Both? That's a lot of green leaves for one week. Parsley -- I grow my own, but fine, I'll use it. Baby turnips. They say you can eat them raw. Otherwise I'll have to roast them and pretend they're potatoes for a fish night. And here comes summer: Zucchini! Another veggie that I love and Ed is tame about. And the amazing local strawberries. Late spring, no?]
I'm 67 years old and I've yet to find a good way to commemorate this Midsummer's Day. June solstice. In Europe, the important June date is St. John's. But it can be confusing: the talk is of Midsummer, but the merrymaking doesn't track the seasonal shift. The festivities typically take place on the eve of St John's (June 23rd) or on the day itself. Music, bonfires, food. I loved being in the French Catalan provinces then. They add dance to the mix and it's all rather enchanting. So, too, in the Basque region. And I can't begin to give words to the beauty of a late June evening in Scotland, especially on the Isle of Islay. The sun does a quick exit after midnight, but it never really grows dark and within the hour it's back again, as if to tease you into thinking that the next day of gentle summer is well underway.
But I love summer solstice here, on the farmette as well. We wont have the late night sunset (remember, it's a cloudy day), but can I interest you in an evening rainbow?
Or in a deer, pausing to acknowledge the uniqueness of this day, this moment?
So it wasn't a time of music. And food for tonight is slated to be the second half of yesterday's frittata. But in my heart and soul, I know that this is the day that marks the success of the spirit: the dark days seemed interminable, but in fact, they did not last and now here we are, living in the light of the longest day and it is sublime.
