If God were to rid the earth of the foul pestilence that is the mosquito, you’d hear no complaint from me. I’ve tried just about everything, and I’m still being eaten alive. I have bug bites all over me, and the itching is about to drive me up the wall. I’d like to scrub my flesh with a wire brush.
I’m exhausted after a long day of collecting last night’s fall of peaches, harvesting plums, harvesting peaches, and then sorting, packing, and weighing one hundred forty-four quarts of peaches to sale tomorrow at the farmers’ market.
Oh, and that repairman who was supposed to fix the hot water heater? Yep, never showed. Another guy has been here the last two days trying to figure it out, but he can’t either. Today, I just couldn’t stand it any longer. I wanted to peel off my skin and go soak in the icy Atlantic. But I’d be attacked by yet more mosquitoes on the way down to the bay and back. So instead, I heated three teakettles and a pot of water on my four burners and proceeded to bathe nineteenth century-style. Of course, I almost scalded myself several times, and I also turned the cold water on every now and then to rinse off better. It was such an ordeal but definitely worth it.
It’s five thirty, and I’m finished for the day. I’d love to explore more of the area, try to get involved with the community, but, at the moment, I’m worn out. Plus, the second I walk out the door, the mosquitoes start assembling the troops…
No comments:
Post a Comment