Last Day of Spring
When we woke up this morning, it was cold enough in the camper to turn on the heat. So I did.
Our neighbor came by today to invite us to hike this weekend, and he said, “how do you like this September weather?!” I asked him if it’s usually hotter around this time of year. He said, “there’s no ‘usually’ around here.”
We’re getting some cow manure from one of our contractor men. It’s three years old, which is apparently a good vintage.
I keep thinking of things that will be “fixed” when we move into the house. I’ll be able to use a real bathtub when we move. We’ll have a freezer. Lots of things will be fixed when we move in. But my brain keeps glitching: when the clothesline was a little loose from a heavy item, I found myself thinking, we’ll have a real clothesline when we move in. No, that’s the real clothesline, Marsh.
We have an odd mix of slow pace and much to do; connected via the internet to the whole world, but if two cars are on the road in front of the house at the same time, we call it traffic. We are writing and building; neither of these shows much progress until you’re about to hit enter. At least on the outside.
Big days here.
Summer tomorrow! Maybe it will hit seventy.