its only monday and i already miss the week-end

i had a weekend of cousins. of long runs. of summer weather. of exploring a new-to-me, old-to-friends swimming hole filled with fresh water that made your legs ache with cold. of finding cheerwine in massachusetts. of buying shiny things i don't for need pennies at tag sales.

but this week is going to be filled with business plans. with a meeting with a potential landlord. with a dinner meeting with a new boss. with packing boxes for the seventh time in 4 years. with lots of driving.

and so i'm trying to hold on to that week-end essence for a moment longer. cause i imagine this is going to be a trying one.

rocco-cat

i miss the shit out of this cat. every. goddamn. day. going through old photos of old animal friends this afternoon. never a quiet task.

i love you rocco-cat. i wish you would come home. i hope we didn't drive you away. i imagine you are with some stupidly-loving cat-thieving family that feeds you raw liver and snuggles you deeply every morning as you were accustomed.

sitting back a la campagne

i never get to sit back and unwind in the country. there will forever be things to do. fences to mend. gardens to tend.  but i'm housesitting for some neighbors this week and the luxury of it all is divine. inside bed. hot bath that can fit two. wifi. the good comfy life for a couple of days. 

photos:

1. milking goats has me so nostalgic for my north carolina days

2. guinea egg. chicken egg. duck egg. goose egg. 

3. tall stack of oreos and a glass of goat's milk

4. basket o' eggs

5. abigail and martha

6. workstation. finally getting to a month's worth of email.

the finality of Frost

the day started off with a freeze. not a deep freeze. but one that had the weather service issue a warning, informing us with all finality and no ceremony that this would be the EndoftheGrowingSeason. that anyone with AgriculturalInterests needed to harvest their crops as soon as.

there's something comforting in going all out, all summer. working dawn to night. sweating through and dirtying every t shirt you own.  knowing that some day in october the temperatures will drop and then that's it. well, of course, the kale, the broccoli, the b. sprouts, they'll live through Frost. they actually get tastier with Frost. but for the better part of it all, the summer garden is formally complete with the arrival of  Frost. which leaves us to plan and dream of Winter. when we are left to our animals and our preserves.

i'd be negligent in my writing if i didn't tell you that the tent was decidedly chilly with the dip in weather. the first night that i was....under my world of woolen and down blankets....quite cold. wallpapered to nick and rudy's warm bodies.

but the day turned herself around. long-underwear and vests were exchanged for shorts and sweaters and milk was made into yogurt and cheese and butter. like it was just any other thursday...

photos:
1. the lingering crystals of Frost.
2. 10 gallons of dairy to process.
3. we need to wash our windows more often.
4. ricotta, yogurt, butter. check, check, check.
5. oatmeal for breakfast. pumpkin soup for lunch. breakfast for dinner.
6. the sunnies are done for.
7. pitbulls playing in the sunroom.

our un-apologetically humble abode

i thought it was about time you two met. Tent, meet Blog...Blog this is Tent.

i think we are nearly, after  five weeks, just now becoming fluent in tent living. this means that we are able to keep the tent free of 1. dirt 2. rain  and 3. cold. this wasn't as simple as i had blithely hoped. i had first covered the tent's bare floor with my most special rugs, pillows, blankets. then the rains hit and those rugs were first shockingly dry... then damp... and then soaked. and then we were damp and soaked. because the golden rule about tent living is that water seeps. if one pathetic little belonging gets wet anything it touches will also, slowly, but surely, become damp to wet.

i put our bed and rudy's on a platform of old pallet wood. all of our clothes are in milk crates up off the ground. we have two down blankets because we found that sleeping every night in bags is slippery. the sub zero bags remain in a dry bag near the entrance for emergency needs.

we have a bouquet of pine to ward off the smell of Mold and Mud. midnight mason jars of water litter every surface. two prickly plants and a broken statute of a bull found at the corner store greet you on the wooden plank to the bed.

it is a little home. a dirty and smelly and sometimes frustratingly musty home. and here we prepare to move further eastward into a real home with floors and windows and doors and walls, and armoires and desks, and bookcases, and nooks to place my teacups, my typewriters, my books and baubles. yet i find myself already nostalgic for the small-ness. for the simplicity of tent living. for only keeping 70 square feet of living clean. for only having the Absolutely Necessary with us.

its a good, humbling tent.