D'vorahDavida
Yetzirah

I'm not sure how this last week got away from me. But here we are in the last days of August. It seems surreal. The sun is coming up later and going down earlier, and for some reason, it's more noticeable here. Perhaps it's the animal chores that accentuate it. The chickens are putting themselves to bed earlier. The horses… well, they are the same. Always hungry. The weather has cooled off thank goodness. The nights are great for sleeping again. The whole town was sleep deprived and cranky during the heat wave. I had to take several days off knitting and rest my shoulder, so I sort of lost my mojo. Though I do have three projects on the needles and I'm ready to dive in and finish them. I have a long knit list, which makes me feel all warm and wooly inside. It's good to have lots of ideas on the horizon. We have been eating green beans and corn from the garden. We didn't plant any cabbage, so I bought a half of a huge one at the farmer's market the other day and made cole slaw with half of it and will cook the other half today for lunch. How you ask? (I didn't hear anyone ask you megalomaniac.) Ooooo, you are using your big words today. I simmer the shredded cabbage in milk with salt and pepper and a pat of butter. Simple. Yummy. S. just came in to tell me to brace myself psychologically for the fact that quite soon we will have pears to deal with from the garden. I took the news stoically. I'm a seasoned farmer now. I can take it. (Who are you kidding. You used to have a garden the size of Connecticut back in the 80's. You know from harvesting and preserving food. Don't play dumb. It's annoying.) Oh all right. I've seen lugs of pears before. Just not lately. I'm considering making pear leather. Pear butter? Pear crisp. And the never to be underestimated "Pear Smash". (Okay, I'll bite. This entry is already a total train wreck. What is Pear Smash?) Well, first you find the nicest, most perfectly ripe pear from the harvest, wash it off carefully, admire it for a moment visually, smell of it deeply, and then smash it into your mouth, standing over the sink to catch the juice that drips off your chin. (God help us all.) He does. Every day.