By the Sweat of These Brows

As I type this* in the middle of the day, it's forty-five degrees outside.  Forty-five degrees.  This is only worth mentioning because I'm sweating just looking at these pictures from two weeks ago.  We worked for eight straight days, most days from morning until supper, to finish the gardens, and several of those days were in the mid-nineties.

It's hard to believe.  (It doesn't help that I'm wearing a bathrobe over my clothes right now, and am thinking about starting up the pellet stove.)

I am so thankful for the children.  I gave a rotten example of joy and was cranky and crankier in the heat, gracelessly accepting the gifts that warmth and sunshine are (tho' I was thankful when the sun moved across the sky and gave us a few shadows to work in at the end of the afternoon).





Thankful, too, for a baby who forced us to take turns in the shade of the maple.  (Good, fussy baby.)

Oh, and Annika took these pictures of pumpkin-planting, per tradition.

*I wrote this yesterday. Today it's 20 degrees warmer, thank goodness.