High summer has arrived with lots of alternating rain and sun. This combination has allowed the backyard to flourish. Here the upper right corner fills with Charlie’s blueberry farm. The grape arbor peeks out of the top left corner. The raspberries emerge on the middle left. Perennials abound all around the yard. Charlie salvaged the bricks forming the walkways from various derelict factory buildings. The hand made picket fence separates the dog back yard from the people back yard. Needless to say, the dog back yard doesn’t merit a photo.

The window on the south side of our upstairs hallway, complete with a cushioned window seat, provides this view every day. A real balm for my spirits each morning.

Since we emerged from Covid and resumed a normal driving pattern we are constantly dealing with all manner of reckless drivers. From people running red lights to drivers acting as if the highway was a life size model of a car racing video game, something seems to be changing on the roads here. So much anger has erupted that the new phrase “road rage” was coined to explain (excuse?) fights over driving.

I was reflecting on this yesterday and realized that the highways are one of the few places where we are amidst many other people and are expected to share the road with them. It is possible to avoid stores by having packages delivered, to never enter a religious gathering, to watch one’s own media device, to have one’s own bedroom and to use one’s own phone.

Sharing doesn’t seem innate as anyone who has had more than one child can attest. Still, over the years in constant encounters we do learn that we can’t always have our own way. Most of us shared rooms, phones, televisions and trips to the store. We unconsciously honed our sharing and patience skills. Both serve us well on crowded highways.

Unfortunately this awareness on my part won’t change others’ daredevil driving. That person behind me at a stop that says “No turn on red” will continue to honk at my compliance as I wait for the green. The video game racers will keep on startling me as they zoom around my car. All I can do is remain alert. My defensive driving skills are definitely being honed!

As I have written before, in late spring we buy a share from our local farm as participants in CSA(consumer supported agriculture.) Beginning in late June and continuing through October we receive a bag full of the bounty. But we are well aware that in the contract it states:

“We are committed to provide you with the highest quality products but there are risks in agriculture (Mother Nature’s whims, disease, pests, etc) that need to be shared by the whole community.”

Last summer’s drought reduced some vegetable yields but produced an overwhelming number of hot peppers. This year’s flooding, seen above, will impact the farm in ways they can’t yet predict. Having a stake in the farm has made me more aware of the challenges facing the farmers each year. Additionally the seasonal workers are affected. The farms here have regular workers, treasured for their skill and work habits, that come each year to work the land. Being unable to provide for them deeply affects the farm owners. They know that the money earned supports families in Mexico and Central America. They are not faceless “migrants” but valued employees.

The Connecticut River valley has long supported farms, but flooding in July is a disaster for the record books. While the River floods each spring after the thaw it is before planting time. In this challenging time perhaps some fields can be replanted. Others are so contaminated by the flood water’s chemicals and sewage they will sit idle. We will continue to share our portion of the loss.

The Connecticut River, a few blocks from our home, drains a large section of New England on its way to the Long Island Sound. While our towns didn’t get the flooding of Vermont, our river is overflowing it banks. Here it fills our local park.

Nestled among the fall blooming asters I spied a 6 inch tall volunteer sunflower. Eventually I discovered that it was actually blooming at the end of a sturdy stalk lying woven between the asters. But first I was delighted at the idea that somehow a very short sunflower decided to show up before the later mammoth ones now sprouting.

Height challenged appears to be the new way to say “short.” While I reached the average American female height of 5’4″, it took me a long time–until I was seventeen–to get there. For many years I was distinctly short. It proved to my benefit in elementary school since we were assigned seats according to height and I always ended up in the front rows. This obscured my need for glasses which wasn’t discovered until eighth grade. I was astonished to learn at that point that the stars hadn’t disappeared from the night sky, I just hadn’t been able to spot them!

I was particularly challenged by needing clothing for teenagers but still fitting girls’ outfits. Fortunately I was not alone among the baby boomers, and manufacturers came out with “junior petite” sizing. Petite seemed to be a polite way to say “short.”

Before I end up going on a rant about the ways I am now supposed to describe heretofore normal observations such as fat, short, pudgy, scrawny, and skinny I best quit while I am somewhat ahead. Still I wonder what was gained by dictating a change in our vocabularies. I was still short (and a little skinny!)