|Everett closes the gates one day last week after work|
The radio beside my head comes on. The CBC news is ending and the morning program with Sheila Coles begins. I like her enthusiasm and curiosity and personality; critics might describe her tone as whiny, but you can’t please everyone.
She likes to include comments from those who are connected with her on Facebook and Twitter, and this rubs me the wrong way. If I wanted to know what her FB and Twitter listeners are saying, I could connect up with her account on FB and Twitter and find out for myself. I suspect this is a lazy way of filling up the minutes of the program, although if her listeners were writing letters and leaving phone messages that she shared over her show, I would like to hear some of them. I guess because that’s the only way I’d have access to them.
Perhaps I am being a codger.
I am propped up in bed, drinking black coffee and scribbling into my journal. Everett comes to the bedroom door; who is driving in with him today? he wonders. I leap out of bed just as Scott enquires whether he should go or not, and say I’ll do it. I throw on jeans and a sweater, grab my keys and cellphone and sunglasses, and head out with my boy. It’s a beautiful morning, sunny but cool, with the scent of smoke in the air. In town after the lad’s gotten out of the car and I’ve taken over the wheel, although I’ve yet to wash my face, brush my teeth, comb my hair, or eat breakfast, I wish I had someone to go visit. It’s early and I don’t know who’d be up, so I drive slowly home.
Scott’s truck is not home, but I thought we were going to Kelvington today to finish up the siding on Nedjelskis’ bungalow.
|Some of what we got done last week. That white styrofoam insulation? Try standing in front of that on the south side on a hot day. Holy hanna. I thought I might pass out.|
He must have gone over to the family farm to work on machinery for swathing or baling; there is always something to fix and maintain. Maybe he’s even gone to the field already, though there’s no sign that he’s had breakfast. This is foolish, as he gets nasty headaches when he doesn’t eat on time, and eat enough; however, he’s a grownup and has to take responsibility for his own condition, so I don’t worry. I make myself some scrambled eggs with cheese and toast some of Aunt Marj’s delicious bread, and check the email and my FB account while I eat, then clean the kitchen and wash up the dishes. A flock of white birds passes in a V high above the yard; snow geese already?
I go out to the quonset to bring in supplies from the deep freeze: popcorn (farmers’ market is this Sat so caramel corn needs making), a roast and some short ribs and ground beef to make meals in the slowcooker if I’m away working with Scott for the rest of the week, as I expect to be. It’s not hot out and there is still no sign of the man, so there is time for a walk with the dogs. Yay! I haven’t been able to do this for a week! The heat’s been a deterrent by the time I get out there, or I've been too tired in the evenings after being on my feet all day. Off I go. The wind’s at my back as I stride to the corner ¾ of a mile south of our driveway, and I take off my jacket and sweater and tie them around my waist. When I turn back the wind is cold and the sweater comes back on, and my hand goes to my throat to protect against the chill. A flock of sandhill cranes circles overhead, gabbling as they do. Canada geese fly over. A garter snake with a red tongue appears on the gravel and I jump, then advise it to head for the ditch before the dogs notice. Too late — they’ve seen it — but I tell them to back off and they listen, and the snake makes it into the long grass in the ditch.
The everbearing strawberries are blooming like it’s high summer, but few are ready and those that are have the toothmark of a rabbit or something in them. I decide to grab the horseshoe hoe and make short work of the weeds while I have this opportunity. I come in to change my shoes, and end up checking for phone messages (Scott may have called from the field to tell me what’s going on) and that gets me too close to the office and so I upload the photos from my camera and decide to write a little; after all I’ve just had a brisk walk and it won’t kill me to sit still for a few minutes. So here I am.
Strawberries weeded, flowers deadheaded (not all; some left to seed out and self-sow next spring), pots watered, cats fed (all four kittens, still shy and wildish, came up to nibble on the crunchies with their parents), and Scott stopped in to warm up leftovers for his brunch and make phone calls before jaunting off to the field to swath barley. Or whatever has to be done before he can get to it.
This is the best time of year. It’s sunny but neither too hot nor too cold, and outside is where you want to be. Hordes of dragonflies moved in last month so there aren’t many mosquitoes to make pests of themselves. It’s a harvesting day and my help has not been requested for anything, so I can do exactly what I please. What’s not to love? At this moment my life is pretty much perfect and I’m grateful to be right where I am.
|I took a leisurely drive to the field yesterday to deliver a lunch.|
And there's the morning gone already!