Saturday

Sometime near sunrise, when I begin the discussion in my head about whether I should move toward waking up, and Ed is deciding to make his way finally to bed, I hear him coming up the stairs and I see him peering at me, wondering whether I'm awake. Clearly he has something on his mind.

I'm awake. Tell me.

Two things: first of all, there is a situation in Russia and secondly, I had heard a crunching noise in the kitchen and I looked up to see which cat was eating only it wasn't a cat it was a raccoon.

Even in summarizing all the talking heads' explanations of what happened in Russia, I could not give you a good rendition of what's at play there (for one thing, no one, not even the Russia experts really know themselves), but I can do a credible job of explaining why we have a raccoon in the kitchen eating cat food. You see, we have seven feral cats that we feed here at the farmette. Six are related in complicated ways, but they have very different habits. Five will eat at the sheep shed, but number six will not, so we feed her here, in the farmhouse kitchen. Only she is of low appetite, only nibbling at wet food, and before she is half done, her half-sister comes over and eats it all up. So we leave dry food for her all day long in the hope that she'll fulfill her nutritional needs with that. Her half-sister hates dry food. Then there's Pancake, our newest feral addition. She (he?) comes twice a day for the feedings, but she is as shy as they come and neither Ed nor I can really get near her. She sits at the window and meows until we bring her her food. She eats on the porch. This, too, is tricky, because it must be done when other cats aren't watching or they'll beat her to it. We are never sure if she is getting enough, so we leave dry food on the porch for her as a supplement.

In recent days it has occurred to us that someone else is eating the porch dry food. I'll go out at night to check on the dish and someone will scurry away through the cat door. I never worried much about this: it could always be an 8th feral cat. We dont mind feeding cats in need. But this morning, it became clear that our nightly visitor was not feline and moreover, he was willing to come inside the house to get more food. (We've been hiding the food in the sheep shed for the night because we do know that raccoons break in there if we leave it out. Talk about a keen sense of smell!)

Well now, here's a challenge! If he comes in for the cat food, will he come in for the croissants and baked goods and the pantry foods too? Raccoons can open up a poorly secured chicken coop. They'll have no problem with our pantry door.

Let's hope that this was a one-off. We are not going to host a raccoon family at the farmhouse every night! 

Of course, all this meant that I would not be going back to sleep at this news packed early hour. That's fine: I have multiple earlybird errands to run today. A quick market trip for flowers and veggies (peas!), a side step to the bakery for breakfast foods, and a return home by 8:30 so that we can eat an earlier-than-usual breakfast. 

(Morning barn walk: peas!)

(Morning barn walk: more peas!)

(What I buy at the market: peas!)

Of course, while I was running all over town resupplying us with yummy foods... 

... Ed went back to sleep. By the time he came down for breakfast, I was done.

Why the rush? Because this is the day Tipi Farms (our CSA farmers) is hosting all members for its annual strawberry pick. We are assigned a 10 a.m. slot. The farm is in Evansville (about a half hour drive southeast of us) and I have to still pick up Snowdrop (about fifteen minutes drive northwest of us).

In the past, I've invited Sparrow to come as well, but we are serious berry pickers and it is not possible to pick and mind Sparrow without help and his mom is out of town and his dad is watching Sandpiper. True, Sparrow is old enough to fend for himself, but not on a hot, hot sunny day in a prickly field of berries. More importantly, he does not like strawberries!

So, I pick up Snowdrop (we are both wearing our berry shirts), then return and pick up Ed and now we are off to the farm!

Tipi always has a spectacular berry picking, but this year it was a mixed bag. Some rows were still under-ripe so we passed on those. We then got assigned a row that had had some early frost damage, so you had to pass over spoiled berries and concentrate on the newer better ones. That's always tricky with Ed because he does not want to waste and he over-picks, in my view. I tend to go only for the cream of the crop. He'll pick it all.

Snowdrop is actually a good harvester and she managed to amass as much as Ed did. I also brought in a good haul so even though it wasn't as grand as in the past, it certainly was enough to keep us all berry happy!

In the afternoon, I again contemplated a nap, but instead opt to feed and water the plants on the porch (it's a job!). I dont dare water anything outside so as not to jinx the prediction that there will be rain tonight and tomorrow. We put out a bucket in the middle of the courtyard. We expect results!

Toward evening, I tell Ed that if I had an electric bike right at hand (rather than 15 minutes down the road), I'd go out for an end of day spin. Toward the lake maybe, around our ponds and farmlands. He says -- take the moped to the bike station and head out.

And I do. And it is so very perfect! The moped lets me have that rider's breeze on the face. It isn't a big deal, like the car, it doesn't require time like walking, nor energy like biking up those inclines. I can't give that moped up! Along with the electric cycle, it is a most spectacular combination!

Once I'm spinning on the bike, I realize that there's another great benefit to electric cycling: you really can take in the fragrance of life all around you! I mean, Uphoff's Pig Farm is an obvious smelly place that you can whiff right through the closed car window. But as I pass groves of trees, I smell the difference from one to the next. And as I turn toward the lakeside community, I smell the weekend barbecues. Brats here, something more smokey there. (When you're pedaling on a regular bike, all you think about is the energy required to mount the next hill!) 

I pause by a field of corn. A farmer said that we have until July 4th. The corn can survive the drought that long. After that, if there is no rain, all bets are off.

Do the deer know? Are they storing up on the green stalks now?

But hey, there will be rain tonight. I feel it in my fake knee!

With love...