Coffees.

Yes, plural.

It’s odd. Interesting. Intriguing. Why can’t we, culturally, meet to chat and see, without coffee, booze, or tea?

Work is currently chats and catch ups and introductions. Fascinating. And caffeinating.

Hopefully fruitful.

Sunflower underleaf nests for this beneficial…or pest?

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A cool night.

Down to 88° F! I almost need long sleeves. (You think I’m joking…)

I heard on the radio the other day that ~130 days per year here have a heat index over 90° F as the high. Somehow this both surprised me to learn (after 16 years here) as well as soothed me to know. (I did move here for sunshine, after all.)

I ordered a new toy, which I only discovered the name of after 10+ failed attempts at search terms to find it from witnessing one in a video.

And am experimenting… any favored soil blocker receptacles? Or tips for watering them without them crumbling?

Ten cauliflower sowed. Tens more to go.

More than those.

Pollinators aren’t only honey bees. Yes, we need to save the bees. But also these little flyers.

Can you spot them?

I don’t know their name. Nor do I immediately recall if this is quinoa or amaranth, only that it as an impulse grain purchase months ago now.

Months.

A few more months and perhaps my life will shift again. Stories told are being retold and adjusted. Unfolding as they are unearthed. And as such, perhaps the solid harvest shown, that recently appeared to be unraveling, may have been sown in cover crop and sold as orchard.

And perhaps, after these next few months, I’ll find my way away from mixed metaphors. Until then, I’ll dig into reality as often as I can, gulp from sweet sweet iced water in a jar reminiscent of pasta night years hence, and breathe.

Out of sync

” What’s the black spots called, mama?”

Those are the seeds.

“Watermelon doesn’t have black seeds! That’s crazy!”

It’s melon season here. The kids are having melon from a neighboring farm that had them at the farmer’s market, priced with Sharpe for $5 or $6.

“I want to plant them!”

Melon season is harvesting now, love. The seeds like to be planted in the spring.

“They won’t mind. I’ll take good care of them.”

They might not grow, honey.

“They will!”

The watermelon sprouts beside the wilting radishes.

Slowing between seasons.

And ready to.

We’ve been doing this every 3-5 days for weeks and weeks. The freezer is full, our friends are full, we’re full, everyone around us seems full of tomatoes.

And just like that, the heat comes, the season slows, and I start to scheme on the next season.