I recently woke up at zero-dark-thirty and stumbled into the bathroom to start my day. OMG! what is that smell? I must be dying!
As a runner, we kind of do a subconscious urine check every time we go to the bathroom. The color and smell are easy checks to see if we are staying hydrated enough. The less color and smell the better. In this case, wowza! Waking up a bit further I realized I had eaten a big plate of asparagus for dinner. Asparagus contains a high degree of sulfur and is highly volatile meaning the smell is easily sent through the air. Recovering from my near death experience and chuckling to myself I went about my day.
First I had to get my work pants off the deck railing. Sometimes we get so wet and muddy, tilling and weeding and planting ,that Fran tells me there is no way I’m coming in the house in that condition. OK, there is no help for it but to take off the pants and socks and hang them over the railing to dry. I’m pretty happy to live out in the country where there is a small chance of traumatizing the neighbors with such activity. The problem today is that we have a dog that loves toys, and will gut the squeaker out of a new toy sometimes before you can arrive home from the store. The dog must have been overjoyed at having dad’s pants available to her, as when I picked them up I found she had eaten the pockets off! Now I have to be careful when I put my car keys in my pants. Dang dog.
Still chuckling to myself, I headed to the new asparagus patch to put on the support strings. We have six rows of asparagus that are 250 feet long. It takes three years for newly planted asparagus to be developed enough to be picked for market. We are in year two. In the meantime, we keep the plants watered and weeded and let them grow. The plants look like a line of sea green tumble weeds that are chin high. They also need support or they will flop over and be a real mess, so I have steel fence posts at regular intervals along the rows, and trap the asparagus upright with the string. I enjoy this job. I like the beauty of the plant and the geometrical symmetry of the string in a job well done.
Chuckling further, I remember the time my grandson came to visit and wanted to help, so I gave him the string job. To the lad’s credit he struggled mightily to do the job, but despite much coaching and stressing the need to keep the string taut, he just couldn’t get the hang of pulling the string with one hand, brushing the plant back with the other, and looping the string around the post on the way through with a third hand that appears from somewhere — it’s a farmer thing. Up and down for six rows. I believe he went over my head to Fran to get relieved of duty, leaving me wondering where the heck he disappeared to. Dang kids. Maybe next year. Maybe I’ll keep that job for myself and find something else for him to do …
Our wildflower meadow is turning out better than we hoped for. Someone did a really nice job planning a succession of wildflowers that surprise us every few days with new blooms. The blue gilia has a citrus scent reminiscent of tangerines. We discovered baby’s breath yesterday, and Fran is busy making wildflower bouquets for market. Even the radish field that was supposed to also be wildflowers is a pretty mix of pastel pinks and yellows. Even our rose bushes are eye popping this year. Pinks, Yellows and orange roses compete with the honeysuckle for our attention. It’s a good time of year.