I don’t have half a mind to summarize or surmise the last long-while, but I suppose that bits and pieces will surface if I keep going. If you have half a mind to say hello and let me know your favorite part of today so far, I would smile to read it.
So here I am. And there you are. (I hope you are still with us, a lot has happened for everyone in the last not-so-lot of time.)
I dug more potatoes today. Elba, is their current name. I do wonder at the names of things before the names of things. I should wish I could hear them tell me how they like to be called. If someone we to call me by, say, Angela, I should not like that very much and may do my utmost to thwart whatever efforts they were making with me simply because they couldn’t care to get my name right.
So, Elba, I do apologize if you have an actual name. If you wanted to share it, I would gladly help you spread the word.
But alas, I think I can’t hear you. Not in the way you want. For my harvest is quite soundly thwarted compared to your cousins in neighboring soil. So I shan’t (y’all, let’s bring “shan’t” back, shall we?) be planting you again next year.
A few too many green skins, a much varied sizing. A tall yet flopping nature and I think not a flower to speak of.
Thank you, for your patience as I attempted to cultivate a relationship between you and I. It is, in fact, short-lived, just a season, as they say most relationships are meant to be.
Perhaps my loveliest love will hear your whispers. For while the time and space did not a bumper harvest make, we will still sop you in butter and appreciate your gifts.