They say day 3 is the hardest. Apparently after two days of actually working, your whole body decides that it’s going to quit. That’s tomorrow. I’m bracing myself for the storm.

Also, you should all try fried bananas.

Lauren left after milking this morning, since today’s her dad’s last day off until August (he works part-time in New Mexico). It was lovely to have her, but I suppose having full use of my bed will help soothe my sorrow at her going.

I wrote before (I think) about how Paul plants according to the positions of the planets. He gets his information about planetary movements (and their implications for gardening) from a publication called the Stella Natura Biodynamic Planting Guide. Well, the alignment of Saturn and Mercury for the next two days is such that we’re met with a blackout day—that is, a day on which it’s bad to work with vegetables whose leaves, roots, or flowers are valuable (so if it’s not a blackout day, the calendar will be marked with one of the three parts of the plant. On root days, we dig potatoes. Yesterday was a flower (=fruit, I guess) day, so we worked with tomatoes. ) This whole aspect of biodynamics is really… well, the kind of thing that I’m tempted to call BS on. But Paul says that this calendar is actually quite accurate at predicting unseasonal weather patterns—for instance, the rainy, unusually cold late winter that went straight into summer and screwed up all the spring crops. They figured that would happen, so they planned for it, and so their spring crop, though not stellar, wasn’t completely lost. Maybe there’s something to the zodiac planting. I’m open to it, but I wouldn’t call myself a believer. Anyway, the point of this whole tangent is that since it was a blackout day, we hoed paths. All. Day. For nine hours, we chopped up the sun-baked dirt between the rows of plants. I have 30 hotspots on my hands (that’s one per joint). It wasn’t as bad as one would expect, but it was still pretty grueling. Andy suffered in silence, but George seemed cheerful, even though he was the only one who didn’t get a break (Andy left early to make lunch; I came an hour late from milking). While I’m jamming this tool into the ground, cursing the heavens  (it is their fault, after all) that the distance we’ve hoed is greater than a lap of my middle-school track, George is smiling from ear to ear because we only have one row left each. No matter that the bed is 500 feet long. Occasionally I almost wish he would get discouraged, but if he ever did, it would probably signify the end of the world. It’s like Anna Rose being mean, or Nathan being shy, or Lauren cramming for a test.  It just doesn’t happen.

Fortunately, tomorrow’s my cook day, so if I plan a really elaborate meal, I can get out of much of the morning work.  Turducken, anyone?