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.