Yesterday, at the farmers' market, I bought a dozen ears of tender white corn, boiled and cut it all from the cob, put two-thirds of the kernels into the freezer, and used the rest as the base for this salad. In addition to corn, I put in diced garden tomatoes, diced and sautéed garden peppers and onions, shredded garden basil, rice vinegar, olive oil, salt, and pepper. We ate it alongside local lobster and a homemade toasted roll, on a blue-checked tablecloth. Maine and summer, captured in a meal.

On the other hand, things are stupid-expensive at the farmers' market, which makes me grouchy. I am still used to rural farm stands--a dozen ears for $2--not these city prices. I can't grow corn myself; I don't have space for adequate pollination; but this market is made for some other kind of person. In a few weeks I'll be going up north for the Harmony Fair, and here's hoping I can snag another batch of corn, maybe even a box of canning tomatoes, without the city hoohah.

Tom spent all day hauling cedar planks back from the homeland, so now we have our shed siding. Today he's going to finish a few other pre-siding tasks, but maybe next week he'll reach the prettying-up stage. It will be exciting to watch that hideous red plywood disappear forever.

I've been reading Penelope Fitzgerald's The Beginning of Spring, and loving it again. It's really a gorgeous book, set in pre-Revolutionary Moscow, among expat Brits. Such an evocation of place, and confusion; the lives of children and adults, separate and overlapping; insiders and outsiders; premonitions and shocks; and glorious, eloquent, simple prose.

Otherwise, I had a dawdling day yesterday . . . some fitful gardening, a batch of lying around on the couch, a bit of classwork. Today I will try to be more useful.