I was in the mood for a holiday serenade. It was a lovely morning. I’d gone out as the sun was coming up over the slough, said hello to the dog, and let the ducks and chickens out in the orchard. My next stop was the greenhouse to check on the lettuce, tomatoes and the three baby limes on my lime tree. From there I went into what I call my summer kitchen, which is actually just a place where I can make a mess without imperiling my marriage. The grape juice, apple juice and pear juice were all fermenting nicely. I don’t know if the end result is going to be tasty, but I don’t have a very sensitive palate, so it’ll have to be pretty bad before I won’t be able to choke it down. I went back into the house and waited until my wife got up and I greeted her with a stunning rendition of “Baby Face.”
My pig farming ended when I left the farm for the army after my senior year in high school, and haven't missed it one bit. Your reluctance of giving up labor on Labor Day surely resonates, for when in the laboring era of life I was either working for a newspaper or freelancing, neither of which recognizes "rest" on Labor Day. That seems to still be the case, so kudos to Robin for the push. Then again, perhaps she just needed to keep your too busy to sing!