Shine On, Shine On, Harvest Moon, Up in the Sky...

 

This morning I woke up before sunrise.  Ugh.  But I also woke up before moonset, which was a good thing because last night the full moon (on Friday the 13th, no less) was obscured by clouds.




Today was also potato harvest day in the strawbale garden.  I planted three seed potatoes in late May and today I unearthed (un-strawbaled?) thirty potatoes, a few fist-size but most of them walnut-size and smaller, down to a tiny marble-size one.  I tossed away the two with the greenish tinge, and also harvested the three remaining shallots clumps, some white onions that didn't get as big as I'd hoped they would (maybe I need to shove them farther into the bales), and pulled a handful of carrots.  I plan to roast about two-thirds of the potatoes with onions, shallots, and carrots for supper tomorrow night when the renters are coming over as a thank you for bringing in my mail, mowing, and keeping an eye on things while I was gone.  I planted garlic too but that hasn't sent up any greenery so, since I read after I'd planted it that it should have been planted last October, I'll leave it in the composted bale to over-winter, and maybe next year I'll have grown garlic.  Oh, and there are two small patty pan squashes too.  Maybe I'll roast them too.




I looked up from the newspaper to see these four Mourning Doves sitting on the fence and I liked the way they looked.

When I went out to plug in the fountain I saw that the Dixie cup I set out with the remainder of the PB & rat poison the other day has been completely destroyed.  I'm hoping that means that Sir Rat (or Ms. Rat, I never noticed) has dined on it and gone off to meet its maker.  Fingers crossed.  The chipmunks seem unaffected and the rat hasn't been defending the patio like it's his/her turf in a couple days.  A good sign.



Look how pretty these little zinnias are.  Today I saw the hummingbird stop for a sip at one of them.

Finally the Bellin Baby Hat is done--except for the pompom.  This hat is way bigger than it's meant to be.  No way does a newborn have a head this big.  I'll finish it and hand it over to LB, the charity chairwomen at Guild but I'm never knitting another one of these.  For a simple "knit one row, purl one row" pattern is was a true pain in the ass.




14 September--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon. 

                        Abel’s idea of celebrating Valentine’s Day turned out to be way more than I ever expected.  He invited me to dinner at his house that evening, but when I went into the kitchen Valentine’s morning I found a flat basket wrapped in cellophane printed with hearts tied with a big red bow on my kitchen table.  Where had it come from?  I hadn’t heard anybody come in during the night.  My heart beat a little harder as I opened the card propped against it.

Happy Valentine’s Day morning to the most beautiful woman in my world.  Love, Abel, it read.

Tears sprang to my eyes and the breath caught in my throat.  No one had ever done anything so romantic for me.

I set the card down, untied the bow, and unwrapped the cellophane.  I couldn’t believe what I saw.  On a delicate white china plate, rimmed with gold scrolls and tiny red rosebuds, sat two croissants with little heart-shaped pats of butter nestled in ice chips in a matching bowl alongside.  A cup and saucer in the same elegant pattern held a packet of English Breakfast Tea and another note.  My fingers trembled as I opened it.

I wanted to give you roses all day.  These are just the beginning.  I hope you like croissants, I read in Abel’s elegant script.  I made the strawberry jam from my own berries.  Enjoy your breakfast.  I’ll see you at seven o’clock tonight.  My day will be empty until you arrive.  Love, Abel.

I wonder how he got it in here, I thought, as I put water on to boil for tea.  I’ll bet Clara helped; she’s the only one, besides the boys, who has a key.

I felt like a princess as I sipped my tea and ate croissants off the elegant china.  The jam tasted like the berries had just been picked.  As I finished the last bite, the phone rang.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”  Abel’s deep voice sent a shiver all over me. 

“The same to you,” I replied, my voice shaking.  My knees gave way and I plopped into the chair beside the phone.

“Did you enjoy your breakfast?”

“I did.  It was a wonderful surprise.  How did you get it in here without me hearing you?”

His throaty chuckle danced across the wires.  “I’ll never tell.  What are you doing today?”

The night before I had made a list of things I wanted to accomplish that day, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember a single one.  “Paint, I guess.  Or maybe clean the bathroom.  I don’t know.  Your gift has driven everything out of my memory.”

“Good.  I want this to be a day to remember.”

“I don’t imagine I’ll ever forget it.  Abel, that was the most romantic gesture.  It was just like in a novel.  How did you do it?”

“A gentleman never reveals his sources.  I’ll see you this evening.  I’ve got to get cooking.  ‘Bye, Gail.”

“Goodbye, Abel.  See you later.”  And we hung up.  I sat there in the dim hallway wondering if these days all men treated the women they were dating like this.  Bert had never been very romantic.  I decided I could get used to Abel’s brand of courtship very easily.

It was a gorgeous day, sunny and warm, and yet I just heard what I thought were fireworks but then it started to rain.  Again.  It didn't rain for long but... seriously?  I went out for a walk around suppertime and felt a few tiny raindrops but it didn't amount to anything.  I think we're all done with rain for a while.  The fields have to be soaked which has to keep farmers from being out there to harvest corn and stuff.  Crazy weather.
--Barbara