Common
wisdom (perhaps apocryphally) holds that children were originally sent
home from school for three months of working on the farm in the
summer. Although we're child-free by choice, I wouldn't mind a
few extra field hands at this time of year.
June is the overlap zone
between spring and summer, when we're harvesting honey, chickens,
broccoli, peas, and greens as fast as we can, but are also nurturing
the summer crops in preparation for the main event. Meanwhile,
we're starting to plant the first of the fall crops in beds freed up by
the spring bounty, and Mark's mowing his heart out, trying to stay
ahead of the grass.
In the winter, I
literally can't remember the tastes, scents, and sights of June.
The days are so long, the garden and woods so green, that I wake up at
dawn ready to get to work. Garden tasks feel urgent --- we both
know how easy it would be to lose all of our hard work in just a few
weeks of getting behind on the weeding.
When the sun finally sets
around 9:30, lightning bugs drifting through the garden and tree frogs
calling from the floodplain, my eyelids are drooping. We're
currently subscribed to one netflix at a time, and I can't remember the
last time I actually made it through the movie before falling asleep.
Which is all a long way
of saying --- our lunchtime series will be going on summer vacation
starting this week. Look for a return to deep thoughts in a few
months when I want to dream of the garden again, rather than live in
it. (There may be a series thrown in here and there if I just
can't resist, though, so don't get your hopes up too high.)