I drove back this week and it's an odd feeling. As regular readers know, I have a difficult time with the word home, but driving back this week. Every state that passed I breathed easier. When I saw that sign above the road that reads "Maine: The Way Life Should Be," I thought yes. This is the way life should be.
Today I drove to the big city and took pictures of graffiti under the bridge, at the edge of the St. John's River, while our last weekend of summer beamed down. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for an Indian summer and a late snow. I'm also putting a moratorium on complaining about the weather. My goal is to do my best to enjoy every last minute of the fall.
Tonight I'm back with my community of artists, two of which are departing for warmer climes before the end of the month. We're busy solving the problems of the world, talking about how everyone lived the way we did our economic system would collapse. How we envy the people in Cuba, who have cars from the 50s in pristine condition and universal healthcare. Not that I think things are going to be that great after the apocalypse. But at least I'll know what to do about tomato blight.
Everyone has it now. The potato farmers are killing all of their plants so that they can harvest the potatoes. No one has tomatoes. Now I'm thrilled that I managed to harvest 50 pounds of green tomatoes before the trip down to Massachusetts. At least I have thirty quarts canned.
So it's back to the farm life.
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