July 31

July has come to an end, and the waning of summer will commence these next few weeks. The real work is beginning at the farm now, and it is impossible for them to keep up. Apart from the tomatoes, potatoes and leeks, which should be within the next few weeks, nearly all the crops have ripened, and there is a seeming endless series of trips to and from the fields in the truck.

As I write this, there is the truck now visible through the gaps in the spruce line, making its way toward the store from the lower field, backlit from the descending sun, and set in a fuzzy halo from the dust that is stirred up along the two-track as it moves along.

The lower field has corn, and the store will be needing fresh bushels, staying long enough in the back room to be graded before making their way to the shelf, where waiting patrons anticipate the arrival.

July has been this way, all hurry up toward maturity and wait with anticipation and with satisfaction.

Notes:

110 cricket chirps this evening with a thermometer reading of 59 degrees.