Ingratitude, dissatisfaction aren’t diseases in need of a cure, but failed, obsolete teachings thoughtlessly, one might say religiously, even fanatically, passed down.
This year’s apricots are as good as ever, ripe early and quite large because the crop is so small due to the erratic spring weather, which included frost during bloom. The first fell, sweet and juicy, three days ago. Yesterday evening, two came off in our hands, as if they were blueberries.
The few sprigs of mint I planted between the apricot and the blueberry last summer are already a force to be reckoned with. We’ve dried about two years’ worth for kitchen use.
Ocean Spray on the Goose Lake trail, the lake itself still high and now thick with lilies.
When I was four, and a man named Vern was building the shed that replaced the old barn behind the house on our farm, I wandered a little too close and a piece of two-by-four fell from where he was working and hit me on the shoulder — or was it my head? I cried. I remember that.
July 18, 2022
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Categories: A Few More Scratches