Good news not great news

 

The good news is that we got a terrific rain storm. A series of storms, really. 1.81 inches, total. That is pretty huge. The earth rejoices, and I expect that the weeds will too. Always the optimist.

And I guess it's good news that I finally found homes for all of those peaches. I encouraged party-goers to take them (almost begged), and then canned the rest. A ripe peach waits for No One. Just 4 pints, which I may regret this winter, and only a half pint of roasted cherry tomato sauce. If it warms up, there will be more of the sauce, but it's been pretty cold today. Weather. 

On top of French Mountain in June 2025

I've been thinking a lot about Jasper. It's more reflection than outright grief, though it still comes at me at odd times. The water in his bowl had completely evaporated, so I cleaned it and put it away. I also cleaned up his toys. . .washed and dried a lot of tennis balls and cloth Frisbees, and put them all in a box for the Shelter. By the way, washing those balls really spruced them up. I wish I'd thought of it earlier.

I'm not ready to move his main floor beds just yet, though there are 2 in the basement that he didn't use toward the end. Steps between floors were not his favorites as his arthritis worsened, even though it sometimes meant being a floor away from us. Of course, that still leaves us with 4 lovely dog beds. Another day.

Beans to harvest. I found out that my zucchini are not the only ones that are shy bearing this year. It's apparently a "bad zucchini" year. Who knew such a thing existed?

 

Small vs large

"Peaches more peaches. I'll stack 'em to Heaven. I want 'bout six thousand five hundred and seven. . . " What? That's a revised quotation from Yertle the Turtle, a favorite Dr. Seuss short story. It's a pretty arcane reference. Sorry about that.

But. Most of our peaches from our one little tree are in now. When I looked out the window at the tree this morning, no fewer than 6 were on the ground. Not good. Between the crows and the turkeys. . .and then the secondary infestation of yellow jackets, I needed to get out there pronto. So I have this lovely counter full of highly perishable fruit. I'm hoping my sister-in-law will take some of the peaches.  

You can also see that the JoanJ primocane fruit red raspberries are just starting, and the Kentucky Wonder green beans are yielding well. I don't have more than 10 feet of any of these crops. And the harvest of a given day doesn't look like much, but when you harvest 3 times a week, pretty soon you're talking a lot of food. And for me, a big responsibility to not let any of it go to waste.

We visited a good friend yesterday who has, conservatively, an acre in garden crops. They are decently but not meticulously cared for. It makes me think about our reasons for gardening, and in particular, for growing food. Our friends are pretty overwhelmed with the fruits of their labor, and I think give a good bit of their produce to the food bank. That's great, but it is a lot to manage, and waste is inevitable. 

I have always had a "think small" mind set. I have no idea why. If I had to guess, I would say it's genetically programmed. Even my artwork is small. . .a ceramic bowl is huge for me. Jewelry-size metalsmithing is just my speed. John laughed at me when I thought our Ford Ranger truck was huge. Give me an escort or a Prius any day. Ah. That "Escort" dates me as well. . . probably soon to be yet another arcane reference.

I don't feel at all superior about any of this. I just find it interesting that something like scale of work would be innate, and not learned. Then again, my father favored a Karmann Ghia. It was a very cool car. Maybe I did learn that preference. . .
 

Let the games begin. . .

 

The rain came last night. It wasn't enough to ease everyone's mind about The Dry, but we got .48 inches here, which was a lot more than we had expected. A lot more. I thought we were only going to get a brief shower, which we did, but it was followed by a long slow soaking rain. Maybe not long enough, but what a relief. I am so grateful.

The peaches, and their level of ripeness, was a bit of a surprise. The birds (crows, I think) let me know. They had, in their usual delicate way, hurled several to the ground and ravished them. When I looked back in my gardening journal, I found that mid-August is when these peaches have historically ripened. They did sneak up on me for obvious reasons.

I accidentally picked a few that still had greenish ground color, but most of these were quite ready. And this is only half of them, from that little tree. They are smaller than expected, which surprised me because I thinned them hard this year. Maybe this is just a small cultivar. It IS a particularly tasty cultivar, which outranks size any day in my book. And they'll be perfect for canning.

I am trying to get myself to go back into the studio, so I figure by talking about these pots I made just before Jasper left us, I might be able to inspire myself.

These flower pots and saucers are made out of terracotta that is dug locally by Sheffield Clay, in Massachusetts. Wheel thrown, low fired, and slightly embellished. No glaze required, thank Dog. I love making these things that I will see every day in my very ordinary life. It is true that nobody else ever notices them, like the hand-made fine silver buttons on my dresses. But as I used to tell my jewelry customers about the fine work on the back of a brooch or pendant. . . it's like wearing really great underwear. It gives a calm kind of confidence that nothing else can impart. Smile.

The rain has brought some relief to my grief. . .at least the grief that wears itself on my outside. I can't really explain why. John thinks that the drought was a terrible stressor for all of us, but especially for me because of my past work in commercial agriculture. I can see a point in the future where people are starving due to our idiocy regarding climate change. It could be drought, too much rain, new insect and/or disease pests, or simply an inability to get a crop harvested due to lack of labor. Most folks have no idea what it takes to plant, care for, harvest and market a crop of anything. 

But. The rain has come, so today is a good day to Not think about the apocalypse!


 

Drought in the time of grieving

 

I expect you're all tired of hearing about Jasper at this point. I apologize. It's amazing how I keep trying to push beyond the brain fog and forgetfulness, and then I have a knee jerk reaction. . .to all sorts of innocuous stimuli. And down she goes. My brain, I mean. My heart.

Still, life does plow through, we we're doing the same. We are in a terrible drought right now. The longest in Maine  history, if I'm not mistaken. We are pumping from our well for the trickle irrigation, which is on all of our beds. . .most importantly our food crops. But the "lawn" (it's a poly-culture, so not exactly the all-grass cliche of a lawn) is crispy crackly. I've spot watered as I can, but am starting to worry about our well. John tells me that it's 130 foot well that over flows in the spring, so there's nothing to worry about, but this instinct I have against The Dry is powerful.

 And so much suffering. Forests, crops, homeless folks, folks without air conditioning (there are still a lot in Maine). It adds sadness to sadness to sadness.  

Muddling through. . .

We've been muddling through. I weed, organize photos and recipes, but can't bring myself to work in the studio or play the violin. 

Oddly, the garden moves forward as if nothing has happened. We made a conscious decision to not remove all evidence of Jasper. His beds and water dish remain, though I did manage to get foodstuffs to the Humane society. Crying involved. 

Even with his beds in place, there so much empty space in this house and in us. We three, pack of three. Down to two. We both dread walking downstairs after watching some intentionally mindless something, because we used to look forward to greeting Jasper. To laying down next to him, and giving him the good night pets. 

As I think back on it, though, the end wasn't as sudden as it had seemed. He had stopped following us up and down steps. He slept even more than the predator cliche. He had been deaf for quite some time, and we knew his eyesight wasn't great. But those things were gradual enough that we simply accommodated. 

He maintained the dressage prance when chasing a stick or a tennis ball. . .and still hiked a couple of miles every day until the last few days. His coat and eyes were shiny. Healthy looking. And he still held strong opinions. It was a shock to see him no longer able to get up,  to no longer be able to lift a leg, to fall when trying to defecate, and on the last day, to collapse when we tried to help him stand. I think he gave up. It was brutal. It was also merciful. He made the decision not a decision at all. Was it a request? Or am I just trying to comfort myself with that thought.

The video below was from his early days with us. . .at age 10. He had just learned how to play, after a lifetime of his ranch dog responsibilities. 

 

Jasper Learns to Play Video