It’s 9:00 PM.
I’m just in from putting an electric fence around my meat birds. They live in field houses that I drag around the pasture. A weasel is getting in. Four birds in four days.
Tired and trying to find something for dinner.
House is empty. Kids are at their Mom’s.
I have a large bowl of black currants that I picked yesterday. What the heck am I going to do with a bowl of currants? And when am I going to do it?
I might as well attempt an assault on Mt. Washington… tonight… leaving here, climbing the mountain, running back down and getting back in time for chores in the morning. Possible, I suppose, but damned unlikely.
“Facts for Farmers,” a wonderful 1867 volume that hangs around the house alternately giving me great ideas and pointing out my inadequacies, says currants make a delightful wine.
If farming has taught me just one thing it is this: You put your head down and keep going, as fast as you can, no matter how overwhelming it gets. It will all get done eventually — and that which doesn’t get done wasn’t important after all.
Currant wine is on the docket for Monday night.