It’s a bit after 9 pm, and I’m sitting in a 19ft camper parked just 300 feet from the house. It’s cosy and quiet, a terrific refuge from the toxic fumes that are a unfortunate by-product of the sealant applied to our cement floors. (We tried using a eco-friendly product last year, but it wore thru in under 12 months. I’m sure they’ll develop better products over time.)
A couple of hours ago, I watered heavily laden tomato plants and straining pole bean vines. I could hear our friend, Norm, mowing the hay field. They alfalfa and grasses will dry for a couple of days before being gathered up and formed into 1,000-lb bales. This is the third hay crop of the season. And, as is always the case, this crop will yield fewer bales than the one before. We’re so very lucky to have had enough rain to produce the hay our little herd will need this winter. It’s been a tough, dry year for so many farmers all across the country. Pundits are all aflutter about how food prices may rise over the next few months. We’ll see.
The small camper sink holds an armful of yellow tomatoes, but I left the broad Italian green beans on the vines. Those need to wait until I can get back into my kitchen and do some heavy-duty pressure canning. And then there’s the basil to process into pesto.
The season is winding down. There are lots of plants to pull and compost: the pak choi, dried potato vines, spent bush beans, and yellowing zucchini.
The crickets are loud tonight. And I can hear the toads. There are so many of them! They sit on the cement apron by the front door and like to camp out at one corner of the garage. As big as avocados, they squat beneath the red shade of the swiss chard, yet manage to stay one hop ahead of the dogs.
Boy the dogs are barking up a storm. I’ve got to go out and see if I can calm them down. I’m thinking it’s Chevy, the German Shorthair Pointer, anxious to get to rid the farm of this young tom cat that adopted us about a month ago.
Hope you’ve had a good day.
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