The discerning scavenger
With a few extra minutes in hand, and clement weather, I decided to see what a harvested potato field might offer the discerning scavenger. Truth be told, not much. I hesitated to dig, so my attention was drawn to the few spuds left sitting on top of the rows, and everything I saw was small and bruised. I guess I will continue to rely on regular markets.
This is voting day, for the various municipal governments and councils across the province. I headed over to the community centre, before lunch. Didn’t avoid a (short) lineup, but I did manage to confirm my snow removal agreement for the coming season. Neighbours; good neighbours. No need to haggle. Come springtime, I’ll pay up. Before then, I shouldn’t have to fight the snow ridges, out by the road.
As for the elections, I should be able to get results in a few more minutes. Counting several hundred ballots goes quickly, especially when the “team” has been in place since early this morning. No reason to delay, or haggle over the validity of an X. Again, good neighbours.
I happened across a newspaper report from about two hundred years back, when people fished even when the weather turned to absolute agony. I can’t imagine hacking the ice from the gunnels, to avoid capsizing. . It also explains why the venerable schooner is now just a symbol on a small coin (or a guest in one of those sail past pageants). Too hard a life for what little value remains in the fish trade.
