President Roosevelt moved Thanksgiving Day in 1939. We hereby suggest moving it again, to the end of August. That’s when our production seems to be peaking. And we’re s-o-o-o-o ready for one of those cornucopia displays.
Our little home in the pole barn is choked with peas, beans, tomatoes, okra, and eggplant, as well as several baskets full of winter squash. We’re planning two big batches of soup, but that will only put a small dent in the supply. Good problem to have.
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Wow. Food to a Vestry meeting instead of body armor?
Just kidding.
One of the wonderful things about my refusal to do meetings. I can stay on good terms with everybody and remain blissfully ignorant of the internecine struggles. Good place to be.