In a former life I had all my CDs alphabetized by artist and within artist sorted by date. Now, they are stacked against a wall—neatly, mind you—by unsorted and uncategorized since I unpacked them nearly a year ago.
So, they are tidy in a sense and askew in another, just like life.
There is good news and bad news here. Things are peachy since I made Mom’s peach ice cream for Memorial Day. Of course, peaches are not in season in Oregon but I had some flash-frozen, organic peaches on hand. I thawed them and put a third of them into a saucepan and cooked them with a little coconut sugar. I had planned to add stevia later for adequate sweetness but thought the sugar would give it a nice color and fullness. Wow, did they ever burn quickly! That is sorta bad news, but I did have some color (such a dark amber, gorgeous) and the fullness of a burnt syrup aroma in the kitchen. I will label it good news because both goals were met—color and fullness—and I learned that in the future I should stay in the kitchen when my sugar is in there getting hot.
I took the other two-thirds of the uncooked peaches and put them into a bowl with stevia, threw in some coconut sugar for no reason at all, and poured in the cream, mushing it all up. The mix went into the ice cream maker and fifteen minutes later it was this:
It has color and fullness and is the best part of Mom’s ice cream recipe but without the glycemic overload. Close your eyes and taste it.
The plot continues to thicken in the garden up the hill and to the right. I think it’s good news and that we have struck a balance of very fertile soil, water, sun/shade, and leaving it alone until picking time. What that will look like and when, only time will tell. But it looks really good. Promising.
I walked up that hill (with my granddad’s cane, lest I “overdo it” [but now I think it is my great granddad’s cane] and I used it to push the peas onto the trellis). On the way, I heard some birds and saw these:
On the way down I saw many marvelous things but did not take pictures because of the momentum imparted to me by gravity, a thing about which we still know very little. In fact, we know not at all what it is, only its effects. Gravity and space-time remain mysteries, as does the time when the garden will be ready . . .