Struggling against weeds and invasive grasses, insects, rabbits, deer, uneven rains and oppressive heat and humidity, small but significant successes have been realized. Yesterday while I was in town running errands, Anne harvested our garlic crop. Soft neck and hard neck bulbs, purchased at our in town co-op and planted at the end of October, our first ever crop here on the farm. It needs to be cured now, and we'll begin that process when the soil on the bulbs is dry enough to softly brush away. We're both very pleased with the harvest, and we imagine all the delicious uses we'll put it to in the months ahead. We had the first taste of it in our dinner last night, a stir fry of onions, squashes, kale, and garlic all harvested here on the farm.
We struggle, but Mother Nature has painted an exuberant landscape here this summer with apparent ease, in the face of the same conditions we struggle against. Returning to the farm yesterday I stepped out to take a few photos as a reminder just how lovely are her tapestry skills.
Before I could take any photos, however, I noticed a bird sitting very still in the middle of our road. It sat with its tiny beak open, barely able to move on the hot asphalt. It would definitely have been flattened by the next vehicle passing, so I went back for gloves and carried it to the potting shed where I placed it in the relative cool in the shade there and offered it a drink. I surely hope it recovered and went about its way.
The birds here have provided me company, music, amusement, and beauty that have sustained me in my loneliness and periodic losses of faith. I like to think I've given back in my small ways.
Often, lately, I've become a glass half empty girl, when I usually think of myself as the opposite. All it takes, though, is a conscious look around me here on Asbury Ridge to see that the glass is actually overflowing.