Monday, June 21, 2004


The big T came in the gray dawn on very windy feet in big wet boots and was out there in the garden hunkering down with its big shoulders to topple my new half-cord of firewood onto my new rows of green beans, which are just starting to produce those flavors and textures that are a couple of the very big reasons gardeners garden, when I put on my own boots and, talking to the wind in no uncertain terms, went looking for an idea, which came in the form of the suddenly handy bundle of thick bucked cedar branches I'd stacked against the stone wall for no particular reason other than "you never know when a stack of thick cedar branches might come in handy" ('you never know' is the key principle of rural philosophy).

So I anchored a few of those branches here and there amidst the tender green innocence of the beans and hefted the other ends against the side of the half-cord in opposition to the wind. Typically, the wind doesn't care one way or the other; it'll push anyway. If you're the wind, you can't just stand there.

I'm now indoors again, having my morning tea, while with its huge airy shoulders the entire wind keeps trying to topple a mere stack of firewood onto just a couple rows of green beans and can't do it. Good thing a typhoon has no ego, or this could get ugly.


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