Friday, June 16, 2017

#26, June 16, 2015, Harvest

This is the next in a series of transcripts from my journal, written during the last year of Dave's life.

Summer has settled in. Mowed the lawn in shorts and tank yesterday—can come outside in nearly nothing and feel warm full through, then today smart from a mild sunburn on my back. Yesterday, picked two bunches of lettuce, each as big as my head, way beyond anything I’ve ever grown before. Tasted them with fresh strawberries. Unbelievable. Should have picked only one lettuce, but had to feel the size of them, fill my arms with them, the wonder of finally growing something as rich as them.

Today it’s so humid that these pages feel thick, but the humidity brings a lushness. The day is just starting. The mockoranges bloom and share their sweetness. A breeze stirs the leaves. And this is life. A new day.

We tried an overnight in Decorah and I think that, for Dave, the experience was mixed. We met Knute and Nancy there—spent a wonderful evening, but the effort of sleeping away from home was exhausting for him. He was very quiet last night, inscrutable. We will see how he feels today.

For me, to be back at the Winneshiek Hotel felt like home. Not sure what that means, but I did so like to sink down in the tub. I may have had one glass of wine too many, and my stomach suffered, but other than that, for me it was near perfect and I knew it would be as we walked in. We got a room facing the beautiful main street, window open, curtains blowing in the wind.

This day I start at home but outside, having mowed and put everything outside in order yesterday so I can enjoy it without a feeling of necessity today. This is my life. Yes, I would change some things if I could, but you, Lord, have ordained it as it is, and it still bears some sweetness. I love you, sweet Lord. Thank you for these breaths.


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