I am very thankful for a dry dwelling place to spend a day like today.
When I was child we always had a garden. Every year we would plant, care for, and harvest tomatoes, beans, peas, onions, garlic, okra, zucchini, yellow squash, white squash, melons and more that I’m sure I just don’t remember. The garden was always large, and we had plenty for ourselves and more than enough to share with friends. My father let me sell fresh produce on the side of the road in front of our house to earn spending money for summer vacation. I still remember the woman who bought lots of vegetables from me on the condition I install a large sign to advertise what I was doing (a stranger who cared and wanted to see me succeed).
Many years have passed since I had much of a garden. So I finally got my act together to try a new type of gardening. I have planted vegetables in straw bales. It’s something I saw on Facebook and researched a little on YouTube. How did we garden without social media?
I’ve captioned these photos to sort of tell the story of the straw bale garden.
It’s one of those evenings that sets the sun down softly, and the breeze comes gently. The birds have stopped singing, as if in reverence for this growing silence. I’ve got unfinished projects, and undone chores, but this sunset will happen with or without me, and with is better. It puts me in a quiet mood. To quiet, even, to fish.
Last Saturday was a great time at the Hatfield (my mother’s side) family reunion. After several hours of catching up, eating and gift exchanges, we all went our separate ways. My separate way led me straight to the swimming pond here at the ranch. I caught this bass on my go-to fly, an olive wooly bugger. This felt good on my 7 foot 4 weight.