I worked in town today, transforming my friend’s backyard. We’re rendering a wall, battling wet sand to get a nice stiff mix, punctuated by unexpected wildlife – a frog, a huntsman spider, a giant grasshopper that looks like something from Noah’s toy box. Orange spikes that something isn’t going to like.
A couple of weeks ago a 44 gallon drum fell off a truck by the side of the road in Beechwood. The fire brigade were called and they taped it to a fence post with some serious looking warning tape. A roadside crime scene. Today I found out that the drum probably contains molasses, which I feed to the cows, so we decided to investigate it further, planning how we could get a drum weighing over two hundred kilograms into the trailer. But the drum was battered and split and the only molasses left was in a puddle in the grass. Still sweet.
My letterbox had a nice, fat package when I pulled in the drive. CDs from a friend. The new Gillian Welch album, Laura Marling, Fleet Foxes, Big Star, Now I need a long car journey somewhere. Mum and Noah had a great day, making crème fraiche from the leftover buttermilk from the last time I made butter, weeding the garden. They were both very happy, making up for my tiredness. Noah had already put the duck and the chooks away all by himself, helped me chop some wood, showed me his weeding. He played with the camera for a while before we looked at some photos from when he was born. His favourite was all the little videos we took. So small, so much in love. He was transfixed as he watched, the corners of his mouth curled up in a little smile.
“I’m grateful that we weeded the garden and had a nice day.”
(Confused? Look)
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