First day of summer vacation and Jeb is already off at the beach with his dad. Without a sunrise drop-off at the bus stop, I let myself sleep in a little longer. Wake up leisurely. Watch the the kitchen illuminated by the morning.
We’ll be moving soon and photographs will have new angles. I’ve loved the light cast through these windows near the kitchen sink.
This morning, I archive some smaller harvests – onions, eggplant – the last from this garden.
Linger in the light.
I make the pumpkin coconut soup and the Bohemian saves the seeds.
He’s got a little collection stashed – bush beans, watermelon and now, pumpkin.
We don’t yet know where we will be living in November, but we’re storing seeds and dreaming of that future garden.
I hope there’s plenty of room to grow. So far, current starter crops are stretchers – all tendril and vine.
It appears as though change is, truly, inevitable. I learn that even my little pocket of protection from all things Progress, has been sliced down the middle.
The California country road where my father lives (and where I’ve spent much contemplative time over these last 40 years) has now been deemed, two-lane, with a fresh yellow stripe to prove it.
Here was the road before.
And according to a recent post from my dad on his Dry Crik Journal blog, this is the latest brush of development.
(My dad’s full post can be found here.)
A yellow line painted on an asphalt road might not seem like much of a big deal. But it signals that changes are afoot and more traffic is expected. It’s telling that even the wild life are suspicious of this day-glow harbinger.
Just makes me wonder what’s down the line.
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