Harvest

Dear Maria,

Greetings from Rainlandia, which is a bit of an overreach but not by as much as I would wish. Of course, in your current circumstances rain would qualify, I reckon, as a novelty.

I heard through the grapevine you chafed a bit at the notion you are convalescing. Well, that is not a terrible thing, is it? Maybe the word seems old-fashioned, or maybe you think it suggests some malingering on your part. Poppycock. You’re doing what is sensible and needs to be done.

At least you’re getting plenty of sun. I could send along a photo of gray skies—dozens and dozens of photos in fact—well, you get the picture. And, yes, I exaggerate. At least the plants and trees and the first of the vegetables are thriving.

Turns out some of last year’s cucumber seeds seem to have borne winter well and are growing in the nursery bed with the burning bushes and crape myrtles. Note to self on that front. Seriously. Will be interesting to see the results.

Not that I am lashed to a harvest as if life depended upon the haul. Fortunately. Just a new shoot here or a tiny leaf there, or a bud or a peach, as part of my daily prowl services my expectations. Well, hoping for a bit more peach-wise.

You, on the other hand, have an end very much in mind. I get that.

We are, as we have been, living in two very different spaces the last few years. And not just geographically, though dramatically so now.

Really, I’m thinking more about time than space. The luxury I have to carry such a short list of have-to-get-done items allows for watching birds or the clouds or the kids next door rather than keeping my shovel moving. Melon seeds sown Wednesday rather than Tuesday, just fine. Squash or cucumbers to be picked—if or when it’s time for them, then that suits.

Okay, okay, I admit my personality may be the greater variable. Do you think? Go ahead, laugh out loud.

As for you—tell me about your Santa Fe visit after you get back. Take pictures. Enjoy the kids when they come out this summer.

Be well, be good, behave. Indeed, convalesce.

Always,

srk