Yokna Patawpha Farm
We woke up to the sound of rain on the tin roof. It sounded rainier than it was; the tin amplified the sound and magnified the impression of waterfall. After breakfast, I added more seeds to the master inventory document while Kristin sorted sweet potatoes in the greenhouse with Jeff.
We rode down to the field in Jeff’s pickup, Kristin in shotgun and me in the bed with Tom From the UK, and Cleo bounding exuberantly alongside us the entire way, her speed and joy belying her advanced age. Then the three of us pruned a couple of hedgerows of elderberry shrubs down to about a foot in height, using big bolt-cutter-like loppers, and piled the cut branches between the bushes along the row, as the rain lightly drizzled down – not really even enough to make you feel wet, just enough to make the air misty and damp.
Jeff went home to eat lunch, but never returned – the next day he reported that he’d had a “sinking spell” after lunch, a term I found awesomely southern … (I can’t wait ’til I have a time I just don’t really want to get out of bed and declare my first official “sinking spell.”)
So we waited til 3:00 before giving up and deciding to make a run to the Oxford “Square,” so that Tom From the UK could replenish his book supply (he’d lost his backpack on the Mega Bus, containing all his reading materials).
Doug’s girlfriend came over later than night; they went out to dinner and we ate some pasta, with added peppers from last years harvest (from Doug’s freezer, carefully de-seeded and skinned)
We slept great.