I have numbers in my head today.
If you know me at all, you know that’s not normal.
Three days ago, we bought a fifty-pound bag of flour at King Arthur Flour. I think this foretells something, but I’m not sure yet what that is. How many loaves of bread does fifty pounds of flour yield?
Later that day, we watched six buzzards soar in circles high over our valley. I certainly know what that foretells.
Two nights ago, I stood on the deck to watch the rising “supermoon“. Grateful that we live in the digital age, I snapped the shutter more than a hundred times until I got a picture I liked.
Last night, M & H and I spent the evening sampling snacks, sipping drinks, and catching up in the stunningly lovely home of old friends. This house is my dream house. It has everything a proper Vermont house ought to have, not least of which is a porch that wraps around three sides.
One of our hosts told me that they’ve been seeing three bears there some evenings, a mother and her tiny cubs, but they were too shy last night, I guess. The number of bears we saw was zero. But we did see one hawk. I was about three seconds too slow to get a picture of the one hawk.
This morning, we had seventy bales of hay delivered. I love that feeling. A stocked hay barn is like a full wood shed. It’s a certain sort of security. With five goats, seventy bales of hay will last us about two-and-a-half months, long enough until the farmer has had time to mow and bundle hay for a second time this season.
Earlier this morning, before seven, we dropped H off at school so she and her fellow seventh-graders could go on a three-day class trip. That would be about sixty hours, give or take.
She’s been gone for ten.
Grongar 