I joined Instagram earlier this summer because it seemed like the natural, band-wagon, thing to do while trying to avoid duties of sheep and gardens. Social sites like these are in my facebook-laced blood; I can't shake them even if I want to and even though I am not very good at them. So, this is where I've been. Posting cheap shots of sunflowers and cute tomatoes in exchange for here. I have found that the fast photo (made possible by Nick's old, thrown-to-the-wolves iPhone) and the accompanying quick, slutty post to Instagram has matched my zombied End of Summer/Height of Harvest self better than this blog could. For, while I have been at a big fat loss for coherent, articulate words, the photo-rich world continues to present herself as ever.
My absence here has not been for a want of trying. Wednesday I was going to write to you about my sister and our short summer weeks together, but then I missed Fiona too much and spent the rest of the day loudly cursing the State of California and the grip it has on her. I was going to write to you today about sun-dried tomatoes and then my friend Sarah scared me about botulism so I thought it wise to do a teeny bit of research on the ol' matter before I infect you all. I'll get my shit together and start updating this page more often and stop lazying about on such dirty Insta-sites.
Have a rockin' weekend. I'm making a cake with chocolate frosting for my friend/farmer/neighbor/generally sweet man who always remembers EVERYONE's birthday and is turning 57 on Sunday. Other than that, the days will continue on as they have all summer. I am ready for a Autumn.