I wrote the title of this post, which is the title of Henry David Thoreau's poem, many weeks ago when I first intended to write another entry, and at the beginning of a nearly two week wave of heat and humidity, which thankfully now has broken. It is currently evening and so cool that I am blanketed. We have had beating sun, heavy humidity, what feels like more than Maine's fair share of rain and thunderboomers (as my father would say) and now we're back to the breezy cool that gives us new energy. The tomatoes may not grow quite as exponentially, but we humans thrive.
Certainly not the bigger seasonal changes we'll see in a few months, but it does serve to remind that the cold will come again, and that the summer's warmth, however intense, should be savored, not damned. We'll crave it, and I'll certainly draw on the memory of summer's height in January.
Fall does seem far enough away that we continue to backburner our get-ready-for-winter projects: preserve and freeze food, buck up wood and get it under cover, insulate the foundation of the house. For now we are wrapped up in the continual beginnings and endings of summer. Or if we aren't about to start or stop any given thing, we're in the throes of another.
Our current flux includes the end of ducks for this season-let us know if you'd like a duck in your freezer for the fall or holidays!-, returning our cloven footed charges to their costal home, continuing to maintain and expand our dairy operation-look for our new labels, coming soon-, continuing to clear the young forest behind our house to make space for the pigs to move through and root up, working to stay on top of harvesting the garden-this week we are swimming in summer squash and the first flush of cucumbers-, the chickens have started laying eggs-they've really been free ranging, so eggs have been found in the middle of our driveway, tucked into straw in the bed of the truck and on the floor of my car if the windows have been left open. They're more contained now, and making those lady birds nesting boxes is high on the list. The pullet egg shells are so strong and the yolks are the most gorgeous orange color. Can't wait for more and more of those gems.
So much of summer's goodness is yet to come: Last week I picked up tomatoes from a friend's farm and am now waiting impatiently for our own to come on strong. The garlic and onion harvest is a little ways off but coming right up. Summer dances and potlucks, many an August visitor, and all sorts of growth before the fall. Sunshine, long days, good company and food abound. We'll savor it all.
The following photos are a catch-as-catch-can collection from the past month and a half:
wild folk farm goats
garden from a couple weeks ago, looking way smaller than now.
sweet potatoes, starting to take off
our first round of carrots: picked, packed and long gone now.
one of those woof of the sun days.
garden arced by rainbow. after one of those thunderboomers.
the scent of milkweed wafting from our neighbors field for a few weeks was amazing.
purple flowering rasberry.
i don't know slash don't remember the name of these cheerful things. Andy did tell me but it didn't stick.
Two Loons Barn on July 4th.
lovely ladies, getting their fill of grass
little heifers goofing off in new pasture.
Andy scoping out the duck grain situation in the gravity box.
Melons, on their way! Just a couple square feet here out of our enormous 1500 foot row of melons, squash, and sweet potatoes.
Matt in the rye
Matt and Andy checking in with the squash & weeding
Wall of rye.
Weeds are growing beautifully. Can't not love them.
The rye and vetch get me every time. Those colors.
Tractor toys from Andy's family. Playing while we brush our teeth.
Hard to say if Andy or our son will enjoy these tractors more. Baby due end of October!
Another tractor, one from my family, a few generations old.
Coaxing the heifers in for the night.
She totally posed for this one.
These sunnies make every day.
honey bees and sunnies, together forever.
chickens contemplating how to get out of their fencing, no doubt.
last of the sheeps for the season. Farewell, sheeps.