The life of a farmer is intense during the height of the summer. My neighbor Steve's hay baler was malfunctioning. The hay is cut and laying in the fields drying nicely, but one never knows when rain will come. My dear mechanic, Curtis, went with me on an errand down the hill to return potluck dishes to our neighbors. I told him about the broken baler, so he went over to Steve's shop.
Yesterday afternoon and on into the evening the two guys worked together to find the problem. Curtis cannot be deterred from a mission, so by about 8:30 they had the 1967 Massey Ferguson Baler ready to go for the morning. The boys and girls then got together to toast with beers and dinner at 10:00 pm.
Today I went out to cut garlic scapes. I didn't know the flower part which turns into a seed pod was called that, but farmer Steve told me. You see I had delusions of selling these tender little green garlic shoots to any of the fancy restaurants nearby... fresh, organic, unique, local - what more could a discerning palate ask for? I made my calls, (maybe too close to the lunch rush?), left messages, and have heard nothing since. Oh well.
You can fix things sometimes, and sometimes what you have to sell is not wanted. Life in farm country.
The strawberries are ripe, I've tried several. It is hard to enjoy them when I see in my mind's eye the farmer driving through those picturesque green rows all spring spraying and spraying. Finally I saw him and asked what the name of the spray was. He told me 'Switch'. So there you have it. My mechanic, musician, lover looked up 'Switch' to find that it is indeed harmful to living things. Sigh.
The farmer tells me he has $20,000 into these fields by now, and he has to spray to keep the berries from rotting against each other. The spray is an anti-fungal. He is a nice guy and he lets me pick berries to bring for my Dad's waffle breakfast with out asking for any payment.
I learned the name of the garlic tops today, and also how to program my new cell phone. I also learned that I must be conscious of my posture when I am doing repetitive tasks like trimming garlic scapes.
Being conscious, I realize, will always be my practice.
Today in the background is the milestone that 22 years ago I became a widow. It was a terrible day, and since then no day has ever compared, and so I consider myself fortunate. Fleeting images of that time cross my thoughts like movie scenes. I have always felt the greatest sadness for my sons on this anniversary. We were all so young, how could we know death would visit us so instantly and ruthlessly?
It reminds me anyway, to stay conscious and to embrace and appreciate life.
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