Intermittently for 22 years we have planted tomatoes.
We have harvested only a handful of tomatoes in all those attempts.
Our first year at the Strawbale house we had 40+ tomato plants,
all of which were taken over by the field, and consumed by
deer etc. As another attempt to regain our lives we are
trying again. This time we are using
Tanji growled and growled,
a viscous deep growl from behind the cloths bins.
Eventually, I leapt up to see what was the matter.
Both U & V remained sleeping.
I thought he might be stuck, so I pulled out the bins,...
he wouldn't come out,... finally he shot directly out
to the kennel, where he sat T-tall on the perch staring
at the cat door, for 30+ minutes.
Finally, he slunk back to the kennel door, several times,
before coming back inside.
Where he instantly fluffed and
Tentatively walked around the room.
Before inspecting the source,...
U woke, investigated the room (found nothing)
and headed for T, ...
What is wrong with you?
Nothing,... but I'm going back in.
In the end nothing was found and no explanation was determined,
just a silly spotted Bengal-boy.
Today at the crack of dawn, I snuck outside with the boys.
Are you sure we are supposed to be out now?
This seems kind of different,...
I think I like this,...
I can get used to this,...
Vladi is blissful in the cool morning shade.
"Our" doe and her two fawns sprung from the oak grove,...
Wow did you see them?
I realized early morning is my favorite time of the day, it took 44
years to embody this, but thankfully, I've got it now. Typically,
the instant I wake I feel happy, excited, energized, free, and ready to
leap out of bed. Anything is possible. Every day is alive with
possibilities and promise. I love the morning light brightening the
landscape at oblique angles, the cool temperatures, the lack of
human noises (few cars/trucks, no lawn mowers,
only a distant crop duster buzzing).
Birds begin to welcome the day and the biting insects are still asleep.
Childhood memories surfaced; the sights, smells, and sounds of
early mornings at my grandparents in Red Rock, NY. The large
wood cookstove radiating heat, scent, and sounds, as hot
burning apple or Hickory (that I hauled in to fill the wood box
the day before) crackled. The first thing that permeated my brain
as I stumbled into the wood kitchen (floor, walls, ceiling, cabinets,
furniture), was always the scent of the adults' coffee brewing. Then,
through my sleep blurred eyes I would realize the smokey haze that
built in layers, thickest at the ceiling. I would climb onto the long
"kids" bench that went down one complete side of the table and
listen and watch the preparation of "pan-i-cakes," gravy, sausages
or bacon, and fresh local maple syrup. Grandma was in her chair and
Grandpa was always at the stove,... seeing I was up, he'd grumble
something about sleeping late (no matter when I woke) and would
get my pan-i-cake going. He would talk about the wood species he
was using and why or about the gravy or the sausages or who's
syrup was on the table, if we didn't choose the gravy option (which
was the only option as far as I was concerned). Before I knew it,
a thick perfect pan-i-cake at least a foot across (truly) would
arrive with a slab of sausage and we would ladle
on the thick rich roast-brown gravy.
Ahhh, the memory warms my soul, as the food did long ago.
Nowadays, I often languish in bed in an adreamt state, this
should feel luxurious and rewarding, but it doesn't.
Inevitably my "higher" mind pushes in, weighs
me down, crushing comfort. Taking the
boys out (before my brain sets in)
is my way of achieving bliss.
I know the boys will be up for it,...
they got almost 2hrs out today.