Sugar Creek is dry. I passed the dry creekbed on the way to the Farmers Market, where I got mixed greens for dinner, 3 fabulous zucchini, snowpeas, and glorious mini-scones from a local kitchen--literally, a kitchen!--called Ticklepenny Corner, and heard some live folk music.
The Ticklepenny women will only be selling at the Farmers Market. I also saw Trish the pie lady, to say hello, but did not buy a pie. (I was walking...but there were mini-pies, but I thought I should support the new Ticklepenny ladies. Anyhoo...I will get a pie from Trish another day.) Sweet brief conversation with the man buying a strawberry rhubarb pie, the kind his wife used to make, but "she's no longer with us." He was tempted to buy a mini sour cream apple pie, a snack for the ride home, but, in the scheme of things, it was too expensive. The giant strawberry rhubarb pie was a better bargain. With added nostalgia.
The greens woman said, "We're not certified organic, because I don't like the organic chemicals and the $1500 fee. Chemicals are chemicals. We don't put anything on them." Just like me. So I washed them, and we ate them. The greens, chemical-free.
Meanwhile, I have been feeding the baby and teenage rabbits...um, my greens, the lupine I planted from seed. Everything had been coming up so nicely but sometimes disappearing. So I put up a little wire fence. Keeps the big fat rabbits out just fine. But lets in the little ones, who are not a weensy bit scared of me when I approach with a watering can.
They don't touch the balsam, though. So, for next year, and every year after, since they are sturdy perennials, balsam it is.
"You must change your life," said Rilke. So that's what I keep doing. I worked as an actor, wrote for an encyclopedia, edited a literary magazine, and taught college English courses. Now I write poetry, blog "eight days a week," and listen to birdsong.