My weekend began on Friday afternoon with a trip to the farmer’s market. The lady who sells dates from the Imperial Valley knows Toddler Harbat now. Each week TH walks up and asks in her tiny polite voice, “Can I have a date please?” The woman shakes a single toothpick from the jar and lets TH spear a date from the sample platter. I suspect the cheese guy knows TH too, since she always asks for seconds of cheese samples. I chatted with one farmer about possibly bartering bread for a CSA box. It was as perfect a day as you could hope, clear blue skies and low 70s. As the sun went down we had dinner with friends while TH poured herself tea from a electronic teapot that played a song when tipped past 45 degrees. Glug glug, have-a cuppa tea!
Saturday was outdoor time, and it began with the final chapter of the drip irrigation system (haha! Projects never end, silly!). Despite some cursing about leaky valves and missing parts, my wife and I finally got it sorted and running. Now my wife can understand exactly why projects never conclude without a minimum of three trips to the hardware store. With her hard work in weed-pulling and soil-amending, and the irrigation system weeping out precious water, the beds were finally ready for planting. The vegetable and herb selection and planting is my wife’s responsibility, so I got to planting our fourth citrus tree, a Valenica orange. My final task was laying out landscape fabric and covering it with mulch. Sounds fun, no? Well, actually it was. Toddler Harbat played out in the yard with us, giving us each a sticker of our “favorite” My Little Pony. Mine was Star Song, and hers was Pinkie Pie. My wife got a sticker of Rainbow Dash planted on her pantleg. “Momma, that’s your favorite! Don’t move it!”
I only managed to smash my finger once, a real doozy that had me thinking I’d be biting on a leather strap and plunging a lancet under my fingernail by evening. Turns out my body is a much more practical and gentle healer than my mind because by this morning the swelling was down and the blood blister mostly reabsorbed into my thumb tissue. Thanks, body!
Sunday I got to bake. Four loaves of sourdough, one cinnamon swirl, and two ciabatta. All but two were for friends and neighbors, who stopped by to pick up their still-warm bread. Throughout the day we had neighbors leaning over the fence to swap plants, chat about the weather, or play with Toddler Harbat. This is probably the best thing about our house: the neighborhood. We’ve truly put down roots here, and on Sunday afternoon as the smell of warm bread filled the house and Toddler Harbat dug in the front yard while my wife leaned on the fence to talk to a friend, I realized I am rich.
Writer, architect, father, husband.
Okay, eff it. Vox is having conniptions about the two photos I've been trying to add to my post. Short version: the second pictures is my thumb with a purple mark on it.
(I've had the same issues all day, too. Looks like others are as well.)