Yesterday, when I called Herbie Stickle to ask whether he would get around to making hay this season, he asked whether I was in Rhinebeck. I told him I was in New York. “Too bad,” replied Herbie, “If you came outside we could say hello!” He had taken the call from one of our hayfields. I was immensely relieved. I would have an awful lot of mowing to do otherwise.
Saturday update: haymaking in progress.
Sarah says that square bales are like single-serve, while round bales are more like a buffet.
Sarah, who benefits from a Montessori education as well as a preternatural grasp of spatial relations inherited from her mother’s side of the family, neatly packs the family car to head off to Colgate this afternoon. A+ work here.
John Harris has visited each summer for at least the last decade, although this year was the first time he didn’t bring his sons Will and Ben. And Daisy was a bit disappointed that he didn’t bring his yellow lab, Milo.
On Wednesday John and I crossed the river to climb Mount Tremper, a classic Catskills hike of 7.6 miles with no views whatsoever until the very top, where there is a fire tower. Unfortunately, the trap door to the top of the tower is locked during the week. This picture was taken with my head pressed diagonally against it.
Saturday was perhaps the observable height of the blackberry season. Here, Jen fills a gallon bag with them. Jam will follow. It’s also high season for wineberries, which, although invasive — possibly pestiferous — are sweet, and easy to gather. We collected a gallon of those too.
Flowers tend to bloom, and fruit tends to ripen, all at once. If you miss a weekend or two, you might miss something altogether.
This weekend, we had a couple of days of the sort referred to in meteorological circles as stinkeroos. Still, if the fruit is ripe, the jam must be made — and Jen rises to the task.
