Yesterday's rainstorm was dramatic. We had hours of pounding rain, and I was extremely grateful for a solid roof and no wonky electrical-connection issues (finally). It's been so long since we've seen a rain of this magnitude, and I was pleased to note how well the new Lane gardens and gravel paths were absorbing the waterflow in places that had formerly been erosive mud holes. There are still a couple of spots to work on, where the runoff from my neighbors' tarred driveway was cutting chutes into the topsoil. But plants are miraculous.
Fortunately the bulk of the storm had passed by the time Paul's plane landed, so his homecoming was easy and calm. And now the living room is clogged with giant dirty backpacks, and the sound of a Red Sox game echoed late into the night . . .
Today, after things dry out a bit, I hope to get into the garden. It's time to harvest the garlic and do some succession planting for fall: kale, late salad greens, and such. The backyard beds should be weeded, the grass should be mowed. I won't get to everything, but I need to make a dent in my list, as next Sunday morning Paul and I will be on a bus to New York City, gearing ourselves up to learn how to apartment-hunt in Queens.
Fortunately, I did manage to crank out a significant amount of manuscript editing this past week: turning in two projects and starting a third. I should be able to finish the third one this coming week and then can move on to my stack of poetry consultations when I get back from the city.
Everything's a-buzz here at the Alcott House.