Monday was hot. Miserably so. When I checked, it was up to 98 degrees, which although not unusual in Atlanta is still quite hot to be out on the farm in.  That was a horrifically constructed sentence. It’s early; forgive me. Tuesday was predicted to be more so–heat index of 105. Well, we trudged out and worked in the increasingly steamy morning, until 11, when the bottom fell out of the sky and it got 20 degrees cooler. Stayed that way for the rest of the day. And it still hasn’t really heated back up. When it was hot, George told me about the Lakota sun dance ceremony, which happens about this time of year, and which he saw last year. The goal of it is to pray for peace and all that good stuff. Long story short: people train for years so that they can hang themselves from poles by their chest piercings, and they dance for four days without rest or food until the piercings break through. Therefore we can’t complain.

Rest of the week was pretty dull, although I had lots to write at the time. Andy made fresh pasta for his lunch. It was good, but not good enough to justify the number of dishes I had to clean.

We moved the cows Wednesday to a new field. It’s a huge field–4.5 acres–so I was relieved when Robin said she was going to milk the rest of the week instead of me. Just after we finished (15 minutes after we’re supposed to end the day), I looked up as I was talking to Robin to see that Bronco (the calf) was crossing the creek. Animals, it seems, always cause trouble at the end of the day.

Thursday we weeded, then I made noodle-free lasagna for lunch. It was horrifically difficult to make, since I did it entirely from scratch–marinara from tomatoes we bought at the market last week; mozzarella I made myself; bechamel; zucchini I picked; parsley someone else picked.  It turned out delicious, though, so I guess it’s ok. I got the zucchinis roasting in the oven and was going to start the bechamel when I realized that I had no milk. The milk was half a mile away at the A-frame. So I walked down tehre and didnt’ realize until I was halfway there that the zucchinis were still in the oven. So I ran and grabbed a gallon and a half of milk. THey store it in those gallon pickle jars, which are not very easy to carry. Plus the seals are broken, so they leak like old jars. By the time I got back to the kitchen, my pants were thoroughly soaked in milk that was already starting to spoil in the hot sun. THey were my last clean pants. I was angry. Fortunately, all my negativity got used up at lunch, so I wasn’t grumpy during chores. George is handy for that because he gets so excited about all these tasks. I was grumbling to myself about how I’d had to trim weeds with–no joke–a sickle the other day, and then he (not having heard my grumbling) started talking about how nice it is to be on a farm that requires creativity because they can’t afford all the latest equipment. He said workign on rich farms is boring–and he’s done a lot of it. Anyway, so that kept my spirits higher than they may have otherwise been, which was nice.

Now he’s waxing poetic about his wife, who arrived last night with coffee and a French press. She always, always, always brings coffee, a press, and a grinder with her when she travels, which I find awesome.

Also, Andy’s gone. He went to a wedding in Illinois (where he’s from). So it’s a bit lonely, except that now Carrie’s here. George’s wife. But she’s asleep.

We head off to market today! Night market in Nashville, then I spend the ngiht with Lauren! Then market in the morning, then off to BARDSTOWN! 😀

Be well!