Jason and I taking advantage of the picture perfect June entrance to do something other than farming
June. Named after Juno, the Roman goddess of childbirth and fertility. The weeds in the spring fields sure think so. Usually, June rolls in on a saucy heat wave, announcing her presence like a child demanding your attention, stamping her feet and screaming “Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!” But Juno must be otherwise distracted at the moment, because June just sort of slid into the raucous party through an already open door and sat down. I hardly even recognized her. Sweatshirts in the mornings and evenings, no desperate popsicle breaks, even the squash seems to be confused and isn’t growing so fast that it’s too big if you don’t pick it within 24 hours of the last picking. It is a surprising, but welcome difference in the usual cycle of things around here, and we plan on enjoying it while it lasts.