There’s a garden in here somewhere. It’s a good place to misplace a child too.
Lest nobody tell you this and you find yourself busy or, in my case, sick when the faucet that is your garden produce moves quickly from drip to full-on blast: the garden waits for no one.
Oh yeah, you are hearing me complain. I complain only because I think I am superhuman and can actually keep up with the food preservation AND go away for a couple of days. But I can’t get sick in there; it’s not in the cards.
Not that I am saying I am buried. I do try to meter out the food madness in measured doses to be done alongside dinner, and have the occasional mad blast of fruit preservation every other week or so. But yes, I had a headache that lasted a few days and it rendered me useless for anything other than my paid work. (Shows how little my job asks of me, eh?) This little detour has made for some rather tiring evenings now that I am well. Whine, poor me, whine. Of course I am laughing as I type this because I am the source of all my pain: those seeds did not magically plant themselves.
I believe I am back to nearly full capacity, though. This is a good thing as it’s high peach and blueberry season, and let’s not talk about the two baseball bat-sized zucchini that met me in the garden yesterday, okay? Eeks. Scary squash.