Write about: the picker.
Kat has been taking Max to StrongStart here in Osoyoos a couple days a week recently and this morning I went along with them. We didn't stay very long, thanks to Max's mid-morning nap, but I could definitely see why he enjoys it so much.
Speaking of the little one, he seems to have picked up the third cold of his young life. So if I'm incoherent due to lack of sleep for the next couple of weeks, that'll be why.
The orchard was filled with the rustling of leaves as a gentle breeze meandered its way across the property. I watched from the house, morning coffee in hand as I daydreamed about the coming end of the season.
After unusual bouts of damaging weather and more pests than had ever been seen in our area before, winter would be a welcome respite. A chance to refuel and come back strong the following year.
I suppose it was due to this distraction that I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary at first. Later I would realize that the neighbour's trees were perfectly still, that the clouds overhead were equally motionless.
No, it wasn't until the apples began to detach from their branches and float into the waiting bins that I knew the day I was commencing would be a far cry from typical.
Write something that has to do with: the highway.
It wasn't really park weather today, so we went to Penticton (with Kat behind the wheel on the way up, as I'm getting rather sick of the drive) to run some errands. We hadn't really planned on looking for it, but we ended up buying Max's first Halloween costume while we were there.
And suddenly I'm looking forward to the last day of October for the first time in years and years...
The endless drive,
The distant sky.
An empty tank,
Cars zipping by.
Night coming fast,
Beasts stirring soon;
They'll sharpen claws
Then call the moon.
He's walking now,
No looking back -
A city's glow
His welcome mat.
Feet against road,
A lonesome sound.
He misses home
And softer ground.
But duty called,
He answered yes.
So now he's on
This endless quest.
Write a four line poem that has something to do with being: underdressed.
Not much rain at the market today. Even less sunshine, unfortunately.
Combine those two with a wind that was ripping all market long (I saw one tent get picked up and blown overtop its owner's vehicle during morning setup) and highs in the low teens and you get a pretty unpleasant day.
Thankfully enough people came out to make it worth my while. I'd certainly have done a lot better if the weather had been more agreeable, but at least it wasn't a total bust.
Oh hey, I should probably share another picture from my backlog. Here, how about this one:
That's Max enjoying the heck out of the swing at one of the parks here in town. If it's not too cold or wet tomorrow we'll probably take him back there for another visit.
A biting wind brings
Jack Frost knocking on every door.
Shivering, you see
That it's not summer anymore.
Write four lines of prose about something that is: invisible.
For the second consecutive Friday I'm going to bed hoping the weather forecasters have got Saturday totally wrong. That worked pretty well for me last week, so maybe I'll be fortunate again.
Unlike last weekend, it's definitely going to be too cold (and likely too wet) for Max to be there, so he and Kat are staying home. I'll miss them both, but I'll be happier knowing they'll be warm and dry, with plenty of room to crawl around.
That last one is mostly for Max, but I'm sure Kat could squeeze in some yoga too.
I will catch up on all these comments I'm desperately behind on, by the way. Just not tonight.
The weight of it pushes me down, makes getting out of bed a battle legends are birthed from every single morning. It follows me all through my day without fail. Sleep offers no escape, for it slithers under the sheets with me and holds me close until dawn's arrival.
Day by day, slowly but oh so surely, these expectations are killing me.
We return today to the list prompt. Use each of the following words in your writing, be it poetry or prose: chocolate, stand, bridge, memory.
I have a big backlog of pictures that I want to share, so I'm just going to pick one at random and start with that.
Here's one I took with my iPhone of Max during one of his breaks from our market stall in Penticton:
The handy thing with my new phone, I'm finding, is the ability to take spur of the moment pictures like this one. I pretty much always have my phone with me, whereas I have to make a conscious effort to bring my camera if I'm going out somewhere.
But with the phone if I happen to see a moment I'd like to capture it's just a matter of a few seconds before I've got it. As long as Max doesn't stop doing whatever cute thing he was doing when I realize I want a picture of it.
I have a memory, though I'm not certain it belongs to me.
That must sound strange, I suppose. To be honest I don't fully understand it myself. The scene is vivid enough - I can recall it with little effort.
I am standing on a bridge, alone despite the other pedestrians moving around me. The sense of separateness is incredibly strong. Like I don't belong there. As though no one else can even see me as I look down at the still water below.
Traffic flows back and forth behind me, cars humming and trucks rumbling as they make their way to... wherever it is they all are headed. There is a complete lack of urgency for me, as if there's nowhere I need to be.
Not at that moment, maybe not ever.
In my right hand there is an empty chocolate bar wrapper. It's an odd detail but it feels important somehow. Sometimes I think that if I can understand the meaning behind that bit of silver, crinkling trash I could unravel this whole mystery.
Laugh if you must, but it's true.
The horizon pulls the sun closer and I squint. Otherwise I am motionless. People continue to pass me by, but they are growing steadily fewer now. No one stops to talk to me, I don't think anyone even looks at me.
The horizon swallows the sun. A full moon appears in the sky, suddenly it seems. Silence falls. I am utterly alone on the bridge.
And then I, too, with but a single step, leave the bridge behind.
Write about: the creature in the woods.
Harvested for a bakery and a (last minute) restaurant order this morning before making the deliveries and running a few errands this afternoon. It was quite chilly out there, especially when the wind was blowing.
You'd think it was fall or something.
I know it's out there.
There are no snapping twigs, no rustle of fur against tree trunks. It is not so foolish as to allow me to hear it breathing. Shadows and silence, that is all I see and hear.
But I know it's out there. Waiting. Watching.
It thinks it is hunting me, stalking my every move. Noting habits and patterns. Forcing itself to be patient, to stay hidden until the moment to strike arrives. To ignore the hunger clawing at its belly. Conserving its strength for the final attack.
It thinks it knows me.
We shall see about that. Soon enough, we shall see.
Write two haiku about: the premiere.
Just three more box days remaining after today's work. I can't wait for it to be over at this point, as Tuesdays are just very, very long.
Anyway, time for bed.
Walk the red carpet,
with fifty stops for pictures;
flashbulbs leave you blind.
* * *
A curtain rising
after countless rehearsals...
I forget my lines.
Write about: new territory.
We're back. It was lovely.
Want more details? Then you're in luck...
It took me a little over three years since moving here but I finally managed to drive east for long enough to go past the turnoff for Mount Baldy. Not that we went a whole lot further before reaching our destination... whatever, though. I'm still claiming it as an accomplishment.
We spent the night at Mountain Valley Ranch, which is just this side of Rock Creek. The guesthouse had no other patrons so we had the place to ourselves - that was especially appreciated when Max had his usual pre-nap fussy moments.
Here's a shot of the front of our accommodation (we had the room on the far left):
It's a huge property that we didn't have nearly enough time to explore, but when the sun came out this morning we went for a little walk to enjoy the fresh air and views. Views like this:
On Sunday afternoon we went in to Rock Creek for lunch in a neat little coffee shop. We'd also planned on doing a short hike in one of the provincial parks in the area. The rain, unfortunately, had other ideas.
The peace and quiet was great, the break from the garden was badly needed. Max seemed to enjoy himself as well, as he just loves checking out new locations. Oh and breakfast this morning, though served a little later than promised, was absolutely incredible.
We're back to doing our boxes tomorrow and even though it was only one night away I'm having trouble getting back into the swing of things. I'm sure that will pass soon enough though.
Write about something that is: out of reach.
Kat, Max, and myself are away today on a mini-vacation at a bed and breakfast not too far away. I shall tell you all about it when we return on Monday.
But for now, this scheduled post will have to do.
Fingers stretching, tendons straining, to a goal so close yet still so definitively, desperately out of reach. A grunt, a lunge, but he comes up short once more. Deep breath, deep breath, try again.
Empty air. That is all he touches. That is, it surely must seem, all he ever touches.
But here he comes again, reaching one more time. Ignoring the punishment he inflicts on his body, not noticing the suffering his mind and spirit endure. Eyes on the prize, eyes on the prize, eyes on the prize...
That remains stubbornly beyond his grasp.
Write a four line poem about: the switcheroo.
It rained steadily all the way from loading up the truck this morning until our arrival in Penticton. Then I get to our usual spot and find that the casual vendor to our left setup too close to the permanent vendor to our right and there is absolutely no way in hell I could fit the truck in there.
Like, not even if the wheels could go totally sideways could I have squeezed in there. I'm admittedly not that great at parallel parking but this was physically impossible.
So I found the market manager and she found us another spot to use this week. At this point I was not, to say the least, in a very good mood.
But then as we were finishing setting up the rain stopped. And people started showing up. And the sun came out. And we ended up having a much, much better market than we'd been expecting (the forecast had called for showers all morning when I checked at 5 am this morning and usually they're pretty accurate that close to the time they're predicting).
We sold out of Ambrosia, potatoes, carrots, green beans, and cucumbers, while also selling most of our onions, Aurora apples, garlic, and tomatoes.
So yeah, I headed home in much better spirits than when I arrived.
Mini-vacation tomorrow night, so I'm going to try to schedule Sunday's post tonight. See you back here on Monday.
What in the hell is going on?
This is our spot! Right damned here!
Well, I guess this other one is all right...
Could we keep it for the rest of the year?
Write four lines of prose about: the finale.
Bringing the first Ambrosia apples of the year to tomorrow morning's market, along with lots of carrots, heirloom tomatoes, and a collection of other produce.
Unfortunately the forecast is still calling for rain, but we shall see how right they are this time around.
The percussionist sat at the back of the orchestra, perfectly quiet and very, very still. He listened as the other players blew and strummed and fingered their instruments, the noise level rising and falling around him in waves.
All the while his eyes never strayed from his conductor as he waited for his big moment, the grand finale of the night's performance.
He just hoped that, unlike during practice earlier that day in the field behind the auditorium, his lighter would ignite on the first try.
Write about: zero hour.
Got potatoes and onions out of the garden and into the root house today, both of which will definitely keep just fine for Saturday's market. Tomorrow we'll be harvesting tomatoes, carrots, green beans, and possibly leeks. Also cucumbers, if there are still some good ones out there.
Would have done more today but I spent a lot of time trying to book a night away for my family this Sunday night. The first place I wanted was out of rooms that would work for the three of us and then I had a hell of a lot of trouble getting a hold of anyone else in the area I want to go (not saying where yet because Kat's letting me surprise her with the destination).
Anyway, another place finally returned my call after dinner and we're all booked for a little mini-vacation this weekend. The accommodations sound really great, so hopefully all the hassle will end up being worth it.
Back home, growing up on the farm, us kids had a couple of different zero hours. We'd start off our day with the first one: 7 am. If you were not out of bed and either on your way to, or sitting at, the breakfast table when the clock struck seven you had better be dead or dying.
Dad would make sure we'd be one of the two, that was a guarantee.
The second one only existed during the school year: 4 pm. That was when we were all due back from our classes, no excuses or exceptions. I can remember more than a few frantic runs up the dirt driveway, textbooks bouncing around in my backpack as the countdown in my head brought me ever closer to a butt whooping.
And of course the day ended with the final zero hour: midnight. Homework done, teeth brushed, under the sheets, lights out. If you needed to use the washroom you'd better have thought ahead. I don't think my sister always made it through the night without accident, but I never dared make fun of her. I had some close calls myself.
My brother tried whizzing out our window one time, at like three in the morning. Dad heard him, lord knows how but he did. Neil never made that mistake again.
There was some flexibility in our lives, I don't want to make it sound like there wasn't. But one thing we all knew: you did not cross the boundary of zero hour unscathed.
Write about: the giraffe.
So apparently the lightning strike managed to not only mess up our cables and router (conveniently fixable by the tech who dropped by this afternoon) but also wrecked the laptop's ethernet card / doohickey / whatever (not so conveniently requiring internal laptop repairs).
So now I've dug a wireless router out of storage and I'm using that to connect to the internet, as apparently the laptop's wireless whatever still works fine.
Anyway. Harvested an order for the restaurant this morning before delivering it and running some errands in town this afternoon. Got a few things done around the house this evening, all of which I'd been putting off for days. Possibly weeks.
Tomorrow we're getting a head start on the market pick, which will hopefully make Friday a little more manageable.
Also hopefully: the forecast for Saturday is totally wrong.
Walking across the plains
Upon legs like stilts;
From sunrise to sundown,
His pace never wilts.
Doesn't bother me.
I will follow his lead...
Till it's time to eat.
Write two haiku about something that is: fried.
Don't mind me, just catching up on things...
One flash of lightning
plus an unprotected path
equals fried tech bits.
* * *
Fried chicken in a
restaurant? Yum. Fried chicken
in a coop? No thanks.
Write an acrostic poem about whatever you like. Why? Because apparently it has been quite some time since I last made use of that prompt.
This way late update brought to you by the thunder and lightning storm that (we think) took out our internet connection at home and the Osoyoos library WiFi connection.
Tech guy is coming by Wednesday afternoon, so hopefully things will get sorted out then. For now, Monday's update is all I have time for.
Nothing seems to be getting through;
Over's not working, under's a bust too!
So what I am supposed to do?
I need to update my blog you crappy,
Gormless pile of machinery!
No more excuses, I've enough ado!
Angry Marc has arrived; he's not
Leaving until this mess has been made new.
Today we write about: the shaman.
Sounds like we've got another major overnight storm going on out there. Hopefully it's not as bad as the last one.
We had a relaxing day off, I'm happy to report. Highlight was a family walk by the lake this morning, followed by a family nap at home.
If you wish to find her,
Follow the drum beat;
She'll be in the forest,
Standing on bare feet.
It will be quiet there,
For she is speaking;
No birds will be singing,
Trees still their creaking.
Between shafts of sunlight,
Spirits gather round;
They listen, they might speak,
If voices are found.
She thanks them for coming,
For their sage advice;
And as they all depart,
She must pay their price.
Write a four line poem about something or someone who is: undefeated.
Pretty good market this morning, as we sold out of heirloom and cherry tomatoes, carrots, and onions. There was only one bag of green beans left, along with a couple bags of potatoes - we'll happily take the beans for ourselves and use the taters for the boxes this Tuesday.
Apples moved fairly well, the plums less so. But that's pretty typical for us, as plums seem to be the only fruit that we have any difficulty in selling. Probably because so many other vendors have them, but I still don't fully get it.
Likely because plums were my favorite fruit growing up, so my viewpoint on the whole thing is rather skewed.
As his streak continues
His ego grows and grows.
Is there an end in sight?
The devil knows, he knows.
Write four lines of prose about: the operator.
Max spent most of the morning with his Grandma, so that freed up Kat to come out to the garden and help me harvest for tomorrow's market. It was great having her working with me again.
We'll be heading back to Penticton tomorrow morning in the truck, hauling apples, plums, potatoes, green beans, onions, garlic, carrots, and tomatoes. Not a huge abundance of anything in particular, but hopefully it'll all combine to make for a decent market.
The ringer sounds again and I can't help but flinch. It's been a long, long day and I'm afraid of what might be waiting for me at the other end of this line. As I move to answer it I can only pray that it's not that same, tired, moronic joke yet again...
"Operator, quick - give me the number for 911!"
Write about something that has been: neglected.
My niece Natalie turned two years old today. Strange thought.
Stranger thought? Max is less than two months away from his first birthday.
What in the world.
The grass in the front yard is tall now, waving at passersby whenever the breeze picks up. In the quiet surrounding midnight you can hear creatures stirring within. If you are especially unlucky you will see those nocturnal beasts as well.
Neighbours stopped filing complaints months ago, once they realized town officials had as little interest in entering the property as they did. They have redirected their energies from letter writing to keeping their children and pets well away from the offending yard.
Though, truthfully, the pets know enough to keep their distance all on their own.
There are rumours and whispers and countless stories about the unknown owner. Some claim to have seen him, others are adamant that he is long dead. Threats to drop a lit cigarette in the grass are uttered daily, but none have been followed through on so far.
Perhaps because they never really meant it. More likely that they fear the retribution that would surely come their way.
However where, precisely, that vengeance would originate does not seem to be a subject anyone in the town seems eager to discuss...
Write about something: rotten.
I was scrounging through our tomatoes this morning in order to fill our latest restaurant order. At this time of year there tends to be a lot of split, overripe, and rotting tomatoes and this season is no different.
At least I was able to find the twenty pounds of heirlooms and ten pounds of beefsteak that had been requested.
Henri stepped into his apartment and froze, his keys dangling from his fingers mere inches away from their waiting hook. He sniffed the air gingerly, once again catching the scent of something distinctly unpleasant.
"What idiot left food out?" he asked himself. Or rather, he asked the bust of himself that decorated his entryway. The (overpaid) artist had captured him in fine form, a lit cigarette between his lips and a menacing gleam in his eyes. The statue was easily the most pleasant company he kept.
Moving reluctantly toward his kitchen, Henri studied his surroundings and was not pleased by what he saw. The cleaners had been scheduled to come three times during his two week absence but from the looks of things they'd only been twice.
"People are about to lose their jobs," he muttered, his cell phone already in hand.
But, as it turned out, there would be no need for him to make that call.
For when he arrived in his kitchen he found waiting for him on the floor, spelled out in large letters with rotting vegetables, the words We Quit.
Write two haiku about: grasshoppers.
Another box day down, with only five remaining this season. We're getting into that time of year where that's definitely a good thing. Feeling very ready for the calm and quiet of winter.
You'd think from my name
that hopping is all I do
with these blades of grass.
* * *
Heard them in the field,
now they are in the garden -
Write about something or someone that is: ferocious.
Spent a good chunk of the morning taking down and putting away yesterday's BBQ setup. This afternoon I had planned on getting started on harvesting for tomorrow's boxes... but then I ended up napping instead.
Max has been working on getting his top middle two teeth for the last week or so, which means night time has not been fun time lately.
Well, it hasn't been for the last ten months or so, but you get the idea.
He's always on the attack,
Allowing no time for thought;
He'd attempt another way,
But this is all he's been taught.
There's no space for discussion,
No pauses to take a breath;
All of life is a battle,
Each one a brawl to the death.
He walks alone in shadows,
Like he's allergic to light;
When he faces a problem
All he can say is: Let's fight.
Write about: the universe.
We hosted our third annual farm BBQ this evening, with an excellent turnout of around 35 people (though that number includes quite a few children). It was a lot of fun, especially once the actual cooking was finished and I could sit down to eat and talk.
The weather was pretty much perfect for it, as we had blue skies, sunshine, and temperatures that peaked in the high twenties. Glad to have all that work and preparation behind us for another year though.
Plus in the middle of all that chaos I found out that someone bought one of the 8x10 prints I had hanging for sale at the bakery here in town. That's a first for me and totally made my night - whenever I had the time and space to think about it.
On a night like this, when clouds are a distant memory and the stars look down upon us with no competition from city lights, I find it impossible to avoid returning their gaze. The earth invites me to join it and I do so, hands folded behind my head.
Together we contemplate the vast, sparkling and dark universe before us. There may be no proof that life like ours exists on other planets, but I cannot imagine how that could be the case. Not on a night like the one I find myself surrounded by right now.
It is too large for us to be the only intelligent life within it. And besides, we're not all that smart anyway.
I like to think, in my darker moments, that all the other beings out there, wherever they may be, know enough to avoid being detected by our searching scientists. That they have no interest in dealing with Earth and our nonsense.
Perhaps we really are alone, though. Maybe there is no one looking back at me as I stare up into this perfect night sky. These twinkling stars are as empty as our televisions.
I find that thought deeply unsettling, for it means I have no hope of escaping this place.
Write a four line poem about: dolphins.
To celebrate Max's ten month birthday, we brought him along to the market today. With our farm help departed there was actually room for him and Kat in the truck, so they didn't need to make a separate trip.
It was the first time that they had been there with me since... I can't remember when. A search of the blog turns up a May 25th visit, but that was his first time there and I know he came at least one more time after that.
So, likely a market in June was the last time.
And yeah, there were some excited people to see him today.
Leaping, laughing, playing,
They seem so gentle and kind;
But if you knew their thoughts,
You'd certainly lose your mind.
Write four lines of prose about: the newscaster.
My goodness did we ever have one heck of a storm overnight. Woke Kat and myself at three in the morning, but somehow Max managed to sleep right through it.
I was quite grateful that it had eased off by the time I had to start harvesting, and only made brief reappearances throughout the day.
I was less grateful to discover, just before dinner, that our basement was home to quite a bit of rainwater. Managed to get four pails worth out of there before I had to return to market preparation.
Fingers crossed for drier weather tomorrow.
With a smile as fake as his hair he presents the evening news. Words spew forth in orderly fashion, each following the one that came before in no apparent hurry. The story being reported makes no difference, each one is brought into living rooms around the country in exactly the same way.
That will change one day soon though, for his dealer has just been arrested.
Today, without any warning whatsoever, we return to Mejaran.
Sorry about that. Hadn't realized until this evening that my next opportunity to write something of this length would be Monday and that just seemed too far away.
Managed to get some potatoes and onions harvested for the market today in order to lessen the load tomorrow. And also because they're calling for thundershowers for most of the day.
Picking in the rain is not very much fun.
Thankfully market day is, at this point at least, looking a little nicer.
"What is Azmar up to?"
The question was not directed at anyone in particular but each person in the dimly lit room felt an uncomfortable pressure to answer it. Not least because each of them, in their own way and for their own reasons, feared the woman who had voiced it.
"He appears to be playing the Principals of Mejaran against each other," Liefert said, speaking softly but with authority. "And possibly the Ladies as well."
"If so then he is playing a very dangerous game," Orsana observed, shifting on her undersized chair. She glanced down at it once more, wondering how much longer she had before it shattered under her weight.
"And to what end?" Yarel asked. Exhaustion coated his words but he held little hope of sleep. Not with the mood his mother was in. "He was out playing hero at the bridge today, for everyone to see."
"Which brought his loyal little army to his side as well." Jocelle's eyes first bored through her son's skull before she turned her glare on Liefert. Her kitchen did not seem large enough to host the four of them and her expanding temper at the same time. "For all the village to see."
"So he seeds chaos and then steps forward to be hailed as our savior?" Orsana shook her head. "Then why endear himself to two, and possibly all, of our current leaders first?"
"So that they don't see the coup coming until it's too late to stop it." Yarel said before glancing around, the look on his face suggesting his theory had surprised himself as much as the others. "Each Principal and probably Lady th-"
"I think it's safe to assume all four have been duped at this point," Liefert said.
"Okay, so each Principal and Lady thinks that Azmar is under their control, on their side." Yarel paused to rub his eyes, the movement causing him to wince. Jocelle frowned but said nothing. "Each convinced that the end result of all this collusion will be in their own best interest. Whatever that may be."
"That's not too hard to figure out - for any of them." Orsana looked as though she was about to spit but rethought her actions after a wary glance at Jocelle. "Self-involved, self-important pieces of -"
"That is enough, Orsana." Jocelle sighed into the silence that followed, then tilted her head back and considered the barely visible ceiling. "The question we face now, it would seem, is what to do with this knowledge?"
Write about something that is: set in stone.
Woke up to thunder this morning, which was followed quite quickly by a torrential downpour. At that point we thought a coffee and tea date in town was a much better option than going out to the garden, so we did that.
Eventually the rain let off, but things were wet for the rest of the day. I did finally get around to sorting through our garlic harvest though.
Final result from what we have left? 185 good bulbs, 29 bad.
In previous years it's been closer to a 50/50 split on quality. Looks like we'll actually get to save some nice garlic for replanting for once.
In a desolate wilderness there sits a towering stone, taller than five men. On three sides it is unremarkable. Plain, simple rock with no markings. No unusual damage. No ancient fossils, not even a dash of unexpected color.
There would be no need to speak of this landmark, if only it had but three sides.
But alas, there is indeed a fourth face.
It looks toward the south, though no man who has studied it can say for certain whether or not that means anything. Likely not. But perhaps...
The words etched into the rock are crisp and clear, as though they appeared there recently. They have, however, resided there for at least two centuries. Some suspect much, much longer than that. I am one of those who believe this.
Who was the author? Was he or she cracking wise or serious? Did that mysterious, elusive figure even expect that another soul would ever stand in that place, reading that message? It is impossible, at this point, to say.
All we know for certain is the message that was left in stone for us:
I will return. I will be stronger. I will have justice. Fear the day.
Write two haiku about: the field.
Managed to get through today's box harvest and pickup on our own, though it certainly was a longer day than usual. Next week I'm hoping to get a few things picked the day before, and Kat should be able to help out a bit as well if her mom is able to watch Max for a little while.
But for the moment I am drained and ready for sleep.
Workers bent over,
hauling weeds out of the earth...
and sometimes plants too.
* * *
cars, broken glass, used needles;
play somewhere else, child.
Write about a: surplus.
In honor of the ridiculous amount of potatoes and leeks still remaining in the garden. Hoping to rectify the situation through a conversation with the chef at the restaurant, as we're not certain why he's fallen so far short on ordering what he told us in the spring he would.
Our farm intern left us this morning, and the friends who arrived Saturday night departed this afternoon. So now it's back to Kat, myself, and Max for the first time since mid-May.
Tomorrow's box harvest will be... interesting.
The animal control officer stood at the front of the classroom, arms crossed across his chest as he glared at the students squirming in their seats. Their teacher sat at her desk, not bothering to hide the fact that she was clearly unimpressed.
Though whether that was due to the officer or her students, she wisely kept that to herself.
As the minute hand dragged its feet on its way around the clock facing the children, the silence in the room was disturbed only by the panted breath of the officer's German Shepherd, who was seated at his feet. The dog was unusually calm, his appetite sated by an overly large breakfast that morning.
"So." The officer made the word sound like a threat, causing several students to begin to cry. "Which one of you released the class' pet rabbits into the woods behind the school?"
Write about: the golfer.
With our farm intern and her daughter leaving us tomorrow morning we wanted to treat them to a bit of a special day. So we took them to Rattlesnake Canyon for mini-golf, rides, and ice cream.
I've never been much of a ride person so I just stuck to golfing, which was loads of fun. It's been too long since I've done that.
Tomorrow I'm dragging my ass out of bed early in order to harvest them a surprise produce box to help them fill their fridge in their new place up in Penticton, where Brittany has already found work that will hopefully get them through the winter.
It's going to feel quite different around here starting tomorrow night, that's for sure.
Rain falls as though a faucet in heaven has been left open and unattended, forming monstrous puddles and washing away unsecured equipment. We watch from the safety of the indoors, just as the foxes peer out of their dens and rabbits look out of their holes.
The storm will pass eventually. Some angel is bound to notice the gushing tap at some point, at which point it will be a reasonable option to venture outside.
Of course, not all men are born reasonable.
Like Kevin, for example. No, he's not here for me to point him out to you. He's out there, just like every Saturday for the last five years, warming up for his 10 am tee time.