these days don't stop for breaks of lemon water. let alone a beer. they don't stop for leisurely lunches, or early dinners. they don't stop for sleep-ins. they barely stop for dishes or washings. they certainly don't stop for emails and phone calls and blogs.
so you must excuse my peppered silence.
for we are in High June. the official mark of summer was just wednesday but by the looks of the garden and her accompanying weeds. by the sight of the fields half mowed. by the chest height of the meadow's grass. by the song of the bobolink. by the pile of sweat-through shirts and shorts in the corner of the bedroom. by the pond-scented towels drying on the line. by the empty lemonade bottles. by the presence of both Gin and Tonic in the kitchen. by the need to sleep on the porch for we haven't a fan. by the panting chickens. by the the vision of rose pig climbing into her water trough you would think there had never been a winter or spring.
it's hard to remember the quietude of the off season. sometimes i'll try. i'll stop half way up the long hill from barn to house. i'll close by eyes and imagine the crisp air and the ground covered with snow and ice. oh! what i would give for a quiet dark day with only a gardening catalogue and the bare minimum of chores do rush out and do before slinking back in to the warmth of pajamas and hot cocoa.
i only allow myself a quick minute into the reverie for there is so much to do before we get there again. i open my eyes again. finish the hill and return to the garden.
for the garden is growing. despite my best efforts to ignore her.
the weeds are, of course, growing.
winnie is putting on weight.
we moved her down to once a day milking to do so.
we are, not so secretly, loving once a day milkings.
nick just brought home four new beautiful devons.
this is the true beginning of our beef herd.
i am shopping around for icelandic sheep.
for i intend to raise, sheer, and spin. perhaps foolishly.
we have two mama hens raising thirteen babies.
the mobile chicken coop was built.
so the chickens are on pasture up by our house.
which means we have the stray chicken in our home every morning.
now the boys are building a cow shed.
and then there is all that mowing to do.
and milk to sell.
and yogurt and cheese and butter to make.
and breakfast and lunch...and supper if we're feeling fancy.
and the fall garden to plan and plant.
and the pigs to move.
fences to be done and undone.
foxes and hawks to outsmart.
japanese bettles to squish.
this is june. she is a beast of a month. just the beginning of a slew of breathless hot months. this is what i live for. this is why i farm. this is why we can stand the slowness, the quietude of winter.
because never in my life do the simple pleasures of eating, bathing, and sleeping feel so Extraordinarily Good and Well Deserved as they do on the farm in the summer.
i hope Summer has found you all in your corners of the country.
will try to be better about writing and checking in next week.