Ok. So. As Coree mentioned a few days back, I’ve been having trouble with my internet service which is why my voice has been pretty quiet around these parts. If I am attempting something online that requires more than two minutes, I might as well forget it. Our telephones aren’t working very well either, which is a pain when one really needs to use the phone, but doesn’t bother me too awful much because I’m not a big telephone chatterer (and Robin, my primary telephone companion, has been out of the state). Plus, the days are so very full right now that the inconvenience of not having reliable internet or phone service seems a minor detail in the broader spectrum of all we are doing and we just can’t seem to squeeze in the time to holler at the phone company during “normal business hours”.
So, we’ve been busy on the farm. Very busy. The garlic harvest is complete. A quarter-acre of the stuff, mostly harvested in the sweltering heat. The blueberries are ripe and require diligence if you hope to beat the birds to them. Wild blackberries hang heavy in the hedgerows and tempt me with the memory of last year’s delicious blackberry wine. The tomato harvest is picking up steam. We’re battling deer in the sweet potatoes and very soon will have to watch that raccoons don’t trash the sweet corn. And, of course, the weeds are going bonkers. Despite all of the hours upon hours of cultivation and weed pulling we’ve done, the weeds still seem to be winning. We’re beginning to start fall crops and prepare the garden space for those crops. And, this time of year, our weekly rhythm is defined by our Friday harvest and Saturday market in Nashville, which really gives us the feeling that each week lasts just a few days. And despite all of the demands in the garden right now, our livestock still require our undivided attention twice per day.
Oh yeah, right… I’m also six months pregnant and have three other small children that seem to always be hungry and in need of clean clothes to wear. Right. A full time occupation lies in just keeping up with those two tasks. (Or not keeping up, as the case may be.)
And then, just when life is full to bursting, just when I think I can’t really handle anything more, there’s this…I swear I didn’t do it on purpose! I promise I wasn’t so overwhelmed and in need of a break that I feigned injury. Really. And I wish I could chalk my injury up to something dramatic like wrestling a bull or warding off a feral hog or being attacked by a rabid opossum. Nope. I simply stepped awkwardly on a rock in the yard while feeding Ira’s chickens and went down for the count. I’ve done so many stupid things in my days that should have resulted in a broken bone or two but to this point have skirted by, unscathed. Leave it to me, a leisurely morning stroll in the yard lands me with a broken ankle and orders from the doctor to sit still and don’t do anything. I’ll tell you, the having-to-sit-still troubles me more than the pain in my leg. Consider me adequately challenged. Now, where is my knitting? That is something I can do…