Berries in a bag marked potential
In our drive towards “nutritional self-sufficiency”, I fear the idea is driving the effort. Sometime this morning, the availability of strawberries became an issue. I’m not sure what triggered it; we had jam in the fridge, along with yogurt. The local supermarket does a wonderful job of importing monster berries from somewhere. Perhaps it was the knowledge that the patch we used to have, before the great soil disturbance, was now a distant memory.
Anyhow, several hours later, I’ve constructed another plant plot. We’ve gone on a roadtrip to Montague, investing is a selection of bags of “this too will be soil, someday”. We even purchased fifty plants, already waiting in a bag for the next customer to inquire, so that the girl in the greenhouse could magically extract them from under the counter.
The gravel still hasn’t been delivered, for the underpad associated with the other beds; we stopped in to jog the corporate memory on that one, while enroute. I mean, it just stopped with the too cold to plant evenings; the mercury nudged the mid-20s this afternoon, while we were sampling a sack of bakery goodies. Again, on the roadtrip.
The dog did something unusual, for him, just before supper. The whole story remains unclear, but he showed up at the garage door, filled with joy and covered in swamp damp. Perhaps he went hunting, on his own. Completely out of character for a dog that is almost always tethered. We treated him like the prodigal son, and I’m trusting that he’ll fail to connect the dots. You know; run in the woods and they’ll treat me well.
