Wow, look at this lettuce my husband found in the garden this morning.
When the greenhouse got too hot for my aeroponic lettuce, I set some plants out in a box in the garden. I expected the bugs to get them right away, that was the first surprise. I expected the stormy weather to pummel them into the dirt, that was the second surprise. And then I’ve expected these last few days of higher temps and bright sun to burn them out, that was the third surprise. We’ve been getting a colander full of crisp, tasty leaves every other day or so.
I’m sitting here listening for that wind, I keep wondering – when will it go? Kuyper says it’s hanging around a few more days! And the temps are going up – hot, dry North wind!
Again, Welcome to Northern California.
When I think back over the last few summers in my memory, none are the same. One Summer it was so rainy and cloudy in June, our garden didn’t take off right away – we didn’t get our first tomato until August. We got hardly any that year, nothing for the sauce pot. We bought canned tomatoes that Winter – yech, how the other half lives!
Yesterday I got a hair cut – my husband takes me out in the back yard and gives me a shearing with the “Hair Cut Kit for Dummies” we bought at (chorus) Walmart. He’s getting good, got the side burns even this time, no skid marks. Last time Badges jumped up on my lap at a crucial point and I got a big skid mark over my right ear, took it forever to grow out. Like anybody cares – my husband works to please himself, he says I look younger and healthier with short hair. When my hair gets too long my old turtle face starts to shrivel up under it – I look like Bitter Beer Man. Today I feel all fresh and young again – high and tight!
I’m trying to sit here for five minutes and not think of anything negative. After a CARD meeting last night and the city Finance Committee agenda I found shoveled into my e-mail box this morning, it’s uphill all the way. This is helpful:
Yeah, I know – LaPado is dead – he will not be available for the upcoming Red Bluff gig. Dry your tears, the rest of the gang will be there.