With a move and uncertainty in our near future, I have no garden captions to provide. I flip between optimism and panic several times a day. Nights are worse. In the evenings the Frenchman and I eat out here and I try not to talk about the garden. He works under such pressure daily that this unexpected move is actually worse for him. But we laugh sometimes, and often we hear Don Estorbo's boice joining the conbersation, from either heaven or hell, depending on where they have sent him that day (he spends a lot of time in the elevator).
Yes. It helps to be a little bit mad.
Last night we watched fire flies, and laughed every time one lit up.
The purple beans are working hard.
We'll have friends over for supper tomorrow, probably for the last time.
And I'll be at beautiful Wave Hill at 1pm on Satuday, talking about Northeastern flavors and books. There will be a herb walk and a book signing. I hope to bring along some wild botanical cordials - if you drink them up there will be fewer to carry when we move!