Marge Piercy

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Drought

We are in a serious drought, which often happens in July these days of climate change.  Roses are suffering, especially.  We can manage to water the three vegetables gardens regularly, and herbs and pollinator garden once a week, but most everything else has survive on its own.  We are on our well for water.  We’re always afraid of asking too much so that the well goes dry, which happened once in the past, or that pump will break down, which has also happened before. We had a reasonable amount of rain in June but July looks dry all the way.

 

I learned last night that for my timid cashmere can Willow, access to me means more to her than food.  She always gives up her food to Shaman when he tries to take it. But @ 5:20 this morning, Willow, who spent the night in my bed and was lying partly on me, was wakened [as was I] by Shaman jumping up on the bed and heading for me to be petted. She growled fiercely at him. She never laid a paw on him but made herself fierce and chased him off the bed.  This went on for at least 45 minutes.  Finally all the cats heard Woody in the hall going downstairs to make himself coffee and feed them.  All three left for breakfast. Schwartzie did not take part in the scuffle, but kept watch on Shaman to make sure he wasn’t being hurt.  Then after breakfast he snuck back into my bed for his morning snuggle. 

 

When it rains a lot, I feel like fungus is growing on me, in me, but I’m just mainly bored. A drought is scary.  It can keep me up at night if it goes on long enough.  I hope for rain every day, but it doesn’t come. O get so angry when the TV weather people keep talking about any sunny day as beautiful weather, perfect weather and how lucky we are with no ‘threat’ of rain.

 

Last week was very productive, and of course it was eight days long because of the Monday holiday.  Because I work with Dale on Mondays, I think of that as the dividing line between weeks.  Anyhow, I wrote and revised four [4] poems.  That made up in part for the week of the workshop when I can never write at all. This work week is only 6 days long. 

 

I’ve been keeping my garden with its four raised beds well weeded and the same for the herb garden and the pollinator garden.  I’m up to date. Last week, we had a huge zucchini harvest.  This week it’s patty pans, and I froze 3 quarts of pattypan puree.  Thawed in the winter, cooked down a bit and curried, tastes great.  I add a small amount of unsalted butter.

 

We had a wonderful dinner with Natasha and her mother Stephanie, Dale and Stephen last Saturday evening.  Stephen was good with Schwartzie and played with the kitten for over an hour.  He’s good with cats and with dogs. 

 

I’m reading Joan Gerstein’s poetry collection Theories of Relativity and enjoying it very much.  Also Marilyn Kallet’s new collection EVEN WHEN WE SLEEP.  I got interrupted shortly after I started Elena Ferranti’s new novel, THE LYING LIVES OF ADULTS, but got back into it last night.  Not much time to read right now.  Lots of garden work and dealing with produce – canning, freezing, dehydrating – and tending to Shaman. I’ve been freezing pattypan puree for winter, 3 quarts so far, probably enough.