Recent mornings have been cool enough to invite the idea of starting a fire. Too soon, I tell myself. Instead, I perk the coffee extra hot and set to work in the garden. For the first time in many years of growing food, I have been consistently weighing everything that is harvested from the vegetable garden - salad greens, berries, and herbs aside. So far the garden has given us over 300 pounds of produce, with none of the heavy hitters such as tomatoes, beets, carrots, winter squash and potatoes included. Those will come later. And we’ve only been harvesting anything beyond kale for about four weeks, so it is adding up quite fast. Peas, green beans, cucumbers, summer squash, broccoli, cauliflower, a few cabbages, and kale.
On a rare departure from the ridge, during my three mile descent toward paved road, I counted five neighbors out walking. Mostly on separate excursions, only two of them walking together. They were all enjoying a gentle pace, some carried a walking stick, none seemed to have a Fitbit or specialty clothing or headphones plugged into the latest self-improvement podcast. They were simply out for a walk. An old fashioned, pointless pastime to some, a soul filling time of connection for others, My neighbors appear to be in it for the meandering dirt roads, mountain views, late summer breeze, and good company. They seem to know the comfort and pleasure of a good walk.
I’d love to deep-dive into a seasonal update, and let you know all that has been going on since we last spoke, but I think I need to quickly gloss over that and just pick up where things are now. In short, like many of you are probably experiencing, this summer has been restful and laborious and lonely and abundant. Weather wise, it has been exceptionally hot and dry. We put everything we had and then some into our garden this year, and now we are being rewarded tenfold. June and July were all about planting, weeding, maintaining; August and September are for harvesting and processing. I will give a true and thorough garden report at the end of the season. For now, we are grateful for and overwhelmed by the harvests we’ve received.
I miss my mother and sister and wonder when I will see them again (this has been the longest span of time not seeing them in my life). I think about them living in a densely populated area of Florida. Adam will miss his mother’s 75th birthday. She is in a state that he would be required to quarantine upon returning from for 14 days, and that is not an option for his profession. We are saddened by the cancellation of Adam’s uncle’s special visit (whom we bought this house from). Life during a pandemic, you understand. I am thinking of the families who are forced with the task of maintaining a livelihood while also needing to school children at home. What a difficult scenario, especially for those with employment outside of the home. I think of families with special needs children who thrive and depend on the resources of their school district, who may now be without. It’s just hard. My inner Pollyanna-survivalist wants to tell you all that we can do this, that we are designed for challenge, for discernment, that things could be so much harder than this... bootstraps and all that. But I also know that as a collective we are so far removed from true hardship and discomfort, that some will experience debilitating stress and hardship in the months ahead. While the mind can do a fair job of deciphering, categorizing, and managing various degrees of stress, the body less so. I guess I just want you to know that I am rooting for you. Keep taking steps forward as best you can.
Mid-summer garden, 2020.
I have carved out time for writing once again, so I will be back soon and often. I just wanted to pop in today and break the silence. I’ve missed being here, but I have so enjoyed this summer, even if it is not looking exactly the way I thought it would. I wonder if you are feeling the same... could be better, could be worse. So much to be grateful for and revel in.