Four jars of golden tomato catsup! I haven't canned anything for several years so was pleased by how smoothly the process went. Canning is always fussy and cumbersome, but a batch of neat handsome jars is extremely satisfying, and yesterday's project went off without a hitch. Homemade catsup is an entirely different beast from bottled red ketchup. It's real food, with a complex and delicate flavor and an airy texture, and in our house it's always been a rare treat because it requires a lot of tomatoes. I was lucky to have half a bushel of giant yellow fruits ripen in the house simultaneously . . . and to have time to simmer them down for two days.

In and among my canning project, I spent a lot of yesterday working on the Baron essay. Finally, after a week of poking hopelessly at the first two paragraphs, I've been able to let myself go and start really writing. As of now, I've got five pages of a draft. There's much more to come, of course, but I do feel like something's come unstuck in me, writing-wise. For a few days I was wondering if I'd be able to do it at all, and that was not a good feeling.

In a few minutes T and I are going to head out for an early breakfast in Biddeford and then take our seasonal morning hike through the seaside bird sanctuary at Laudholm Farm in Wells. Afterward I'll get back to cutting down perennials in the garden. I'll reread the essay draft. I'll listen to the Blue Jays trounce the Yankees (I hope). I'll make stuffed shells for dinner.

Tomorrow I'll be on the road again, with a borrowed car to keep me nervous. Tuesday is my birthday but I'll be in class and driving all day long. Wednesday I'll be bleeding money for car repairs. I'm fluttery and anxious, and trying not to be.