Dark greens, raw milk, and an afternoon of birdsong and fresh, warm air. Yes, please.

It's been a difficult week. Coupled conveniently with monthly shifts in brain chemistry, the past couple of days I could have done without.

Up until last night, when he and I had a cookout on the wood stove on our porch. Cracking open a jar of last season's pickled carrots, and snapping deadwood off the willow tree next to our house to use as roasting sticks. Watching the light drain out, in a pile on the floor, until the mosquitoes came.

I am envious of the folks who get long weekends. Scheduled reprieve, written in stone. Untouchable. In the Summer, no less. It's been long enough now that, thinking about it the other day I realized that I associated such things with being in University. With being a kid. It's easier that way, I do think.

Tomorrow we figure out how to fight for a spot in a market that's decided it doesn't need any more small organic farmers. (One, btw, is apparently the magic number- and it's not b/c that farm doesn't want us there.) I start working my way through the 13 page offer to proceed that we got last week (yay, costsharing! yay, honey extractor, and books, and infastructure and a vaguely frightening number of other things). We give the go-ahead to our C&E intern to create a non profit for us. And we plant, plant, plant, plant, plant (plant, plant).

But for now, I need a beer.