"Farming isn't glamorous. It only looks sexy at the farmers market."

-G

This felt terribly true Friday as we dragged 25 pound bags of chicken manure across a dry, dusty field. It was 93 degrees out. After we finished spreading manure, I leaned against the truck and tried to wiggle the last few drops of water out of my bottle. I was drenched in sweat and dusted in chicken poop, and suddenly realized I didn't feel very good. I retreated to the shade, happy for the breeze. I found a small, abandoned wasp nest by my knee. It looked like a tiny paper lantern, and was just as fragile. 

Yesterday I went to the coast with a couple of visiting former-interns. It turned out to be a good day for it, as the temperature at the farm reached 106. When we arrived back around 7, it was still in the 90s. We spent an hour or so setting up irrigation, then had a relaxed dinner around 9. G brought out several books of poetry, and read a few of his favorites aloud. There was something so nice about sitting there in the warm, dim-lit room, savoring sips of wine, bites of herbed potatoes, and these poignant words.

When I woke up this morning, the sky was filled with wispy clouds. I had tied back my curtain the night before to watch stars, and so I laid there for a while watching the sky lighten. Around 10 we gathered in the winery and set out on bottling a barrel of wine. We did 25 boxes, at 15 bottles a box.... About 375 bottles! It took a few hours, but we talked and munched and sipped here and there. After we finished I hung my laundry to dry, then walked with the other folks down to the river. The water felt so nice.

I think the rest of the afternoon is devoted to rest. I am not sure what the work week holds, but it is supposed to cool down.