Back on the farm

I haven't been sleeping well -- up too late, congested (and seriously snoring, poor Husband) -- but I have been getting up early. The dark is still, cars are sleeping. I go off with my Bible to Peets, chat a bit with the Peets peeps, then sit down to strong coffee and Job. Pretty ideal.

Tonight Baby went to bed without a struggle. The chickens did too -- not one pooped on me. Unlike this morning.

Evening chores took longer than usual because one whole tomato plant blew over, cage and all, and I had to string it up. But it left behind two tiny orange tomatoes, along with the cucumbers that seem to grow overnight. Cut the last of the chard, which I'll cook with some other greens then make stock with the stems. Figs from TJs, but strawberries from the farm. Ditto the first corn of the season -- picked yesterday, shucked and cooked today, with just a little bit of butter and barely simmered through -- and tomatoes that are darker red than blood.

Now, if you don't know me well, you don't realize that every phrase after "ideal" belongs on Amazon's list of "statistically improbable phrases". Okay, the line about making stock is more usual, but the rest was unimaginable even 3 years ago. I love my high heels and proper glassware. Buses and subways are good. Cafes on every corner should be a law (no, I'm not talking about Starbucks here. Cafes.) And if you can't catch up on all the news worldwide by walking down the street overhearing, it's a sorry city.

We plan. God laughs, and gives eggs.