I cleaned out cabinets that were recently installed. Mixed up a batch of milk and honey bread. A tiny batch. Set it in the window front to rise. Took glasses and wine glasses and coffee cups out of boxes and set into their new home in the lovely cabinets. Putzed. Made lunch for a friend who popped by. Dealt with more paperwork. Painted the back door. Painted a couple of big pots. Set a table for kids to share dinner. Threw out the wilted wildflowers.
Rose and Nora came by the bakery after their late cross country practice and we enjoyed a light supper of salad, fresh bread and chicken leftovers. We made small talk. Covered the basics of school. Then I looked around and asked if they remembered that day in March. You know,
the day Rose came up with the big idea that it was time to expand. And Nora told me she thought that 116 North 5th street was the perfect location for the shop.
They nodded. They remembered clearly. Maybe it was my imagination, or the weird lighting, but for a second, I kinda thought our eyes grew moist. My mom's paintings on the wall. Lovely tables and chairs. Black iron chandeliers Christine and our friend Mike installed. Those baby herbs and veggies growing taller and healthy out front. At least 40 baby chard plants coming up from seed, tending by my precious dad.
Order, miraculously being birthed out of the chaos, the dream, the imaginings of a family a bit too daft to think too hard before we plunged.
My mentor from the Small Business Development Center popped in yesterday. We chatted about the progress and the steps and how things are moving forward. She hugged my neck as she left, eyes bright and confident. Her confidence leaked out onto me.
How can I explain how precious this dream is to me? How crazy? How marvelously it is tying our family together?
The leaves on our fig tree are falling this week. Things are hot and dry. Zinnias look a bit the worse for wear, so do the marigolds, but I know if I were to give them a deep soak instead of the emergency water, they would pop right back up. I wonder if I look like them? A bit crispy and tired around the edges? Oh, but the coral vine! She is a work of art. Dripping with hot pink jewels, the bees and flies and wasps, the hummingbirds hang around her wall of delight, drinking it up with joy. I grab armsful and stick them in St. Germaine bottles I have been gifted. They grace the bakery beautifully. Tomatoes keep making, as do the jalapenos. Pretty much the rest of the garden is done for.
The chickens have begun to molt. I let them free range the yard, hoping they would work over the bugs, which they have. They have either paused their laying duties, or have their nest well hidden in amongst the weeds.
Do you remember the ducks Rose implored me to spare this summer? I have watched them grow so robust. So juicy. So luscious. The other day, I have to admit I was fantasizing about duck a l'orange as they waddled in and out of their little pond. I imagined the crispy skin,
the popping fat. A batch of fried potatoes. And then, a dull, waxy looking orb grabbed my eye. Actually three orbs! Lo and behold! The ducks started laying eggs, as if they could read my mind and were desperate to pull off a feat that would ensure their survival.
I now have over a dozen duck eggs, collecting in my house. Will transform them into spelt pound cake, probably. Perhaps we should name the girls? Look like they will be staying with us, and won't Rose be glad to know.
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