Harvesting

 The temps are a bit chilly, willy outside this morning, with the thermometer sitting at a collectively cool 50 (F).  The dogs love these temps.  I don't mind them, since I like wearing comfy sweatshirts.

Today is the first day of my weekend.  And, surprisingly, I didn't stay up watching some show on Netflix, or Amazon Prime, or Paramount +.  Instead, last evening I busied myself around the house.  Most of my laundry has made it's way through both the washer and the dryer and is now either folded or hung in preparation for the coming week.

The peach harvest will begin in earnest today.  I do suspect there is at least one peach cobbler waiting for me in the not too distant future, that will take of some of my peaches.  Other's will be frozen, or eaten.  I'd like to attempt a jam or a jelly, but that's small challenge which will have to wait.

Oh, and in case any one is wondering, it's not just peaches I'll be harvesting, my peppers will soon be ready for eating.

I've given a rough draft of the first chapter of The Body in Repose to one lucky reader, and even before he had read a single word, I had already begun making changes.  That is how it works.  Yesterday, we had rain up here in Central PA and I checked out the weather map and was pleased to see the line of storms stretched from New York all the way down to New Orleans.  Could there be a predominant weather pattern in the book?   Well, I will tell you up front... there is no hurricane.  Oh, and in case you're interested, there's no Mardi Gras either.

From what I understand, Covid cases are on the rise in the unvaccinated, MAGA states; the Delta variant is more popular among that group then hotcakes with maple syrup.  You know, the more super spreader events Trump holds, the faster his anti-democracy base will cull themselves out of the voting booths.  This is fine.  Culling is an important piece of the evolutionary puzzle.  In fact, it's a lot like harvesting, though I can't think of anyone who's going to want to put MAGA jam on the menu.