0052

A cool, cloudy morning as I bicycle to 8:30 Mass, using the refreshing shortcut through the park both ways. Back home, pick a variety of veggies to bake w/ chicken, and put a rack of beans out in the car, under the hatchback, to dehydrate.

I hear increasing buzz about Y2K, just a few months away, and I realize that I've inadvertently put myself in a quite enviable position here. I have all the means of survival, with or without the power grid or government props or industrial dependence. You could say I'm feeling pretty smug right about now.

A restful afternoon: with a soft rain falling, I write a long letter to my sister.

0051

The feast continues. I pick another batch of peas, a couple small heads of broccoli, and about 2 quarts of green beans, sooner than I had anticipated for the beans. I take some dry peas (missed picking when first ripe), and plant them for a second pea patch. I process most of the pickings for my winter larder, and still enjoy a bountiful supper.

I get the mail, which include letters from both Jean and Phyllis. Mom & Dad will be coming with Phyllis & Ray for the Labor Day weekend. My first guests! I'll especially enjoy showing my place to Dad, that old farmer. He can probably tell me all about those horse-drawn implements out on the knoll. Maybe these folks will even want to spend their nights here, so I'd better get to work on that plumbing soon.

0050

Another nice sunny day. I take advantage by washing laundry, then expanding the strawberry patch. I spade between the circles so that the strawberry plants can run and fill in the entire area. I also use cardboard as a mulch along one side to suppress the grass w/o digging.

I pick another mess of peas. I see little green beans forming - that harvest should start in a couple weeks. The feast has begun.

I love analogies and parables. As my garden bears fruit, it seems to be an excellent metaphor for civilization. It has taken hard work, and most of that work has involved acts of repression and even violence: digging up and uprooting living plants, and stopping them from growing back again. Keeping even the cultivated plants in order and in check. Someone unfamiliar with gardening might call me a control freak. Likewise, many voices today call for a liberal and uninhibited approach to life, scorning traditional mores as repressive. But, what is unfettered nature, really? I have only to look where I did not till and hoe. Pretty much choked with weeds, and not bearing much fruit.

Such are my thoughts as I shuck my peas for supper.

0049

The rain slowed and finally stopped this morning, so I pick some veggies - carrots & beets that needed thinning anyway, a couple onions, lettuce, and some windfall apples, and make a trip into town. Purchase plumbing fittings, including ordering a low-flush toilet for the composting system. Food and other supplies, stop at Lenore's, give her the fresh produce, mow her grass, make plans to build better steps and landing for her front door. A big meal at her table, of course. Back home late.

0048

Raining steadily as I rise, and it looks like an all-day storm, so after breakfast, I put together a nice, big batch of bread, and set it to rise. During a brief lull in the rain, I pick peas from the south patch, and some lettuce. Back in the house, shucking the peas with the radio on. Hear an appeal for sandbaggers over in Floodwood. Sounds serious. Should I drive 60-70 miles in the rain to see if I can help? Hurry to get the second rising done, and the bread baked, and finish processing the peas while that's going.

Now that I'm caught up, it's starting to sound like less of an emergency than an inconvenience to motorists. I'll find work to do around the house.

Another brief break in the storm this afternoon. Take the opportunity to go get the mail, and check on things in the wet and verdant garden. Mother Nature is certainly busy -- asparagus seedlings finally emerging, and the first pumpkin blossom (a lone female).

0047

A nice bike ride to church, stopping in the park again to view the waterfall. By the time I get back home, it's getting sultry outdoors, but fairly cool and comfortable in the house. So, I take life easy, write a couple letters, to Bob & Millie, and Phyllis. Tour the garden to stretch my legs, and I notice the first Yukon Gold potato emerging from Lenore's peelings. I still get a charge out of things like that.

The quiet of the day is assaulted at dusk: The Lord Himself provides a fireworks display with a dramatic thunderstorm.

0046

First harvest item this morning - a nice bucket of peas. Slow work, shelling them out, but the joy of anticipation makes it an easy chore. The net yield is over a quart of shelled peas, which I cook up, together with leftover chicken and potatoes, for my noon meal. I'll eat a portion, and freeze the rest, the beginning of my winter larder.

The first forkful takes me back to my family's garden when I was growing up. Store-bought peas are insipid compared with peas right out of the garden - so tender and sweet, they practically melt in your mouth. You know, that helping of peas went down so easily, I think I'll have another small portion. Man, is that ever good! O, yes, I've got chicken and spuds here, too - better remember to eat a balanced meal. Well, maybe just another spoonful. It's not just the taste, is it? It's kinda like Gatorade, filling a deep-down body hunger. These things have got to be just bursting with vitamins and antioxidants and other stuff my system wants.

Let's see now, how much do I have left in the pot for the freezer? Huh! Imagine that - just half a cup or so. O, what the heck, I might as well eat those now, too. The winter larder can wait a few more days.