June afternoon

I gave up riding my bike for a good cause, but just on Saturdays. Not (yet?) owning a cargo bike (and probably not yet having the legs to propel a fully loaded one up some of these hills), setting up a bike corral at the tailgate market means burning a little gas to haul the racks to and fro. It’s a worthy trade-off, I think. We’re encouraging market shoppers to turn a pedal instead of turning a key to get to us, by offering secure, shady, front-row parking, with free advice and help loading to boot. Today was our first corral, and–as on every other Saturday when I think I’d rather sleep in than be at the market–the work of the morning put a smile on my face. (How many of us can say that about whatever it is we do for a paycheck?)

Probably my favorite sight of the day was the beautiful red tandem bicycle, its two riders pulling away from the corral with pebbly cabbage heads and a bouquet of jaunty sunflowers peeping out of the tops of their panniers.

I came home and fell to impromptu chores. The sight of a shaggy yard might dismay some; for me it’s satisfying–we have grass where once was a bare, mudpit-waiting-to-happen, and that means just a little less mess transferred from yard to house (cleaning isn’t high on my list of Fun Ways To Spend My Time). Our lawn maintenance tools are delightfully simple: a lightweight reel mower and a grass whip. A few minutes around the yard with those two tools, and we’ve got a neatly trimmed lawn and plenty of time left to keep weeding (if only that were as fun!).

The reel mower sounds like a small chamber orchestra of sturdy scissors, snicking away. It doesn’t throw rocks, belch fumes, or need to be winterized. A person having a passing familiarity with tools can perform what little maintenance it needs. It is elegant in its simplicity and functionality–two of my most favorite things. The grass whip needs only the occasional sharpening, and its employ brings back childhood memories of stick swords and tall weedy foes in a green meadow. A good way to pass an afternoon then; still a good way now.

I’m about to go sit in my freshly shorn grass and wait for the first fireflies to wink on. I have a plate full of summer squash, kissed with butter, and some leftover mujadara. Yesterday it was tomatoes and mujadara, but they were too good to keep, and I ate them all. I’m not sure I was entirely in control of all my faculties. A late June tomato, ripe from the vine, is a powerful thing. It’s so good, we pine for it in January, and buy those mushy, red orbs in the produce section, in the vain hope of recapturing some of that summer savor. Then June comes back around again, and we come briefly to our senses. Tomato-bewitchment. People write songs about it.

Good, simple tools, and good, simple eats. I don’t ask much of June, and I love what she gives.