It felt good to have such a peaceful day. I read a lot, cleaned the refrigerator, went for a long walk with my neighbor. Paul repaired the canoe seat, and Tom came home with a cooler full of free fresh mackerel, courtesy of a fisherman on his crew. So we sat around the fire pit playing cards, and then the boys grilled the mackerel, and I made pilaf and a Greek salad and strawberry ice cream. Not the dinner I had envisioned, but an even better one.

Today will also be quiet, I hope. Maybe I'll do some writing. Maybe I'll hand-wash some sweaters. Eventually, I'll shred the leftover grilled mackerel into salad.

The weather is turning hot, and I am watering furiously. My few peas are fattening. Strawberries are pink. Tomato plants are growing like magic beanstalks, six inches taller every morning.

Here's a small poem from my 1860s diary manuscript:

Skimming Cream 

A cloudless sky, a slight breath of air— 

I have gained a knowledge of the world.
But I am very tired of books.