The rocks of Rockport.
We are back in Brooklyn. Arrived late, picked some cucumbers from the farm, made a thin, cold soup, poached some eggs and ate them on toast with chives and gratings of parmesan. The cat would not stop purring.
Everything on the terrace and farm is alive. Danielle, our neighbour, did a wonderful job all round looking after plants and cat. Someone even watered the plants on the stoop (I left a note)....
The hollyhocks from Fire Island have doubled in size in 5 days. Overripe figs were hanging from the tree. It rained! We missed the rain. I don't remember when last I saw real rain.
Rockport this morning was warm with white mist lifting off the calm breakers under a blue sky. It was hard to leave, and hard to say goodbye to Vincent's mom, Germaine, who is tanned brown from her two weeks of holiday to which she looks forward all year. She looks ten years younger. Mother-in-laws are supposed to be awful, but we are both lucky to love ours.
So, there will be more orderly pictures from New England, and there will be new plantings here, on the farm: I have all my cool weather leaves lined up in seed packets, waiting.