Monday, July 18, 2011
At our favorite nearby orchard, peach season began on July 15 so my husband and I hopped on the motorcycle and rode over to load up on the first apples of the season, called Lodi apples, and on the first peaches, Early Red Haven.
The upcoming harvest of apples, which will be a bittersweet sign that we'll be moving into fall, also looks quite promising.
Luckily for us, as we were riding down a country road, we came upon a farmer baling the hay into square bales that will be kept in the barn. While my little digital camera could not take the picture fast enough to catch the bale in the air you can still see the the most recently made bale falling on top of the others in the wagon behind the tractor.
Monday, July 11, 2011
I would have wanted to walk inside but there was no cleared path available and my husband most strenuously insisted that this would be a bad idea. "What if the thing collapses while you're inside?" It's stood for a long time, I reasoned, so that would be unlikely. An intense dislike of ticks dissuaded me more persuasively that it would be unwise to brave the very tall grass to get a peek inside.
There is something so sad about remnants of the past that are allowed to collapse on themselves. If it was, indeed, a one-room schoolhouse, as the tiny bell tower at the top suggests, according to my husband, wouldn't the people who were taught there want to preserve it? Wouldn't the county want to make a small museum out of it? There is an old schoolhouse replica at the fair grounds every year so why not maintain the real thing? And, if unwanted, why not tear it down rather than allow it to decay, unused and uncared for, in front of everyone's eyes? These are questions without answers, I know.
On a happier note, a turn down an unknown road revealed a pretty covered bridge, one of the many that make this region famous, poised over a creek. We stopped to take pictures and to rest before heading back home after our short adventure.
On my desktop, I have still a few papers to grade for the summer program and I have an article to revise by Aug. 1 and I'm beginning to work on my book project as well, already planning a trip to Houghton Library at Harvard next month. All of it manageable, none of it a rush, like the pace of my life during the school year.
The best thing of it all is summer, with its clear blue skies and its yellow heat and even its sweaty humidity and pop-up storms and the concert of cicadas every morning, which announces another scorcher to come. Summertime is precious time, and I hope to mark every single day of this first relatively free summer. It has been long in coming though I know it will be quick in passing.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
It's been a year filled with dates when not having him hit home hard, like on my birthday in October or on his birthday in February or on Father's Day just last month.
Today, my husband and I walked the dogs to the commemorative bench mami and us had built for him and we placed a little flower offering I bought at the farmer's market this morning.
Papito, wherever you are, you must know how much we all miss you and how, while the grief is perhaps a little less intense a year later, your absence is no less keenly felt.