Today is a day of hard labor for us, and I have married well. She may not wash socks efficiently (I asked her last light very nicely if there were any socks for today that were washed, and she yawned and asked “do you need to wear socks every day?” Life with an artist) but she works like a fiend, a perfect person for life on a farm. Today we were up at 7 a.m. out mowing the lawn. I ride Florence’s mower, the big one, and Maria pushes the smaller one. Then I am off to work as recommender-in-chief at Battenkill Books from 11 a.m. to 12:30, then we will pick up lunch from the Round House cafe and head back to Bedlam Farm with the dogs. Scraping wall paper till it is done, and that will take a while.
If I can do it, pizza tonight. FIrst, off to the dump with a lot of garbage. Maybe some weeding, and definitely an hour or two of firewood stalking. Farms will either keep you healthy or do you in. And I have two. Maybe I should buy a third.