Even though it's a dreary, chilly, windy day I feel a lot happier after my 2 mile walk this morning. Dusty spotted an egret in the shallows and I think I saw a hawk but it was too far away to be sure. Once Durwood gets home from the grocery, I'll help him can his V-3 juice from our garden tomatoes, and then we'll pick all the red and reddish tomatoes left out there since there are frost warnings for tonight. Can you believe that? Me neither. Two weeks ago I wore shorts every day at The Clearing, last week I wore capris and t-shirts, this week I'm in jeans and a sweater. Evidently this autumn is stuck in the express lane.
September 29--Camille Pissarro, Women Haymaking. The work would be harder if it wasn't for the view, thought Marta as she pushed her fist into her lower back as she straightened. She both loved and hated this time of year. She loved getting out of the house, out of the daily round from barn to milk house to kitchen to garden to laundry and back, around and around like the blind ponies in the grist mills. She loved riding up into the early morning mist in the back of George's wagon with the rest of the women in the neighborhood, with a basket of bread, cheese, fruit and a stone bottle of tea all tucked under a linen towel for lunch. She felt young, like a schoolgirl playing hooky, full of energy and laughter. But she hated the ache that grew too fast in her back and reached down her legs, hated the sunburn that scorched her fair skin, and she hated listening to the grumbling of her mother-in-law when she got back to the farmhouse in the gathering dusk. Pierre's maman always found something to complain about no matter how hard Marta worked. But for now she was happy up here where the sun shone, the larks swooped and sang, and she and her Pierre could sit together and flirt over lunch as they had when their love was new.
Well, that's marginally interesting, might be worth pursuing someday.
--Barbara
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