Friday Pillow Talk – Tears On My Pillow

The last week was a busy and sad one here on the New Hampshire Seacoast.  With all my activity, I haven’t had any time for seed catalogues, daydreams, or night dreams.  My head hits the pillow and before I know it, my alarm is going off and I’m sitting upright again.

Happily, all of the garden plots in the Hampton Victory Garden are full and we have eight new gardeners.  Some of them have young children and that’s good; we need a few more wanna-be farmers in this world.  One of the kindest surfer dudes on Hampton Beach stopped by the Victory Garden with his back hoe on Sunday and made room for a few more gardens.  Thank you, Anthony.

On Tuesday, we had our annual meeting with tasty food at Las Olas Taqueria and we laughed a lot.  It’s fun to get together with people who like to grow food and talk about wheelbarrows, compost, and water.  Most of the “administrative” work is done, the water is on, and the rototilling is finished.  Victory Gardeners are now free to get about their business.

Some sad and violent things also happened last Thursday on what was once a country road running between Greenland and Hampton.  The Post Road is one of two regular routes I take to work and I happened to drive home that way about 20 minutes before the violence began.  I didn’t notice anything unusual and I was listening to the radio, singing “I think I love you” at the top of my lungs along with The Partridge Family.

Not far from the shoot-out house, there’s a gentleman with a big garden and a farm stand; I’ve bought string beans from him.  Further down the road, there’s a lady with another little stand who sells homemade pizzelles, cookies, and fresh strawberries.  I had never bought any of her snacks until last summer when, in a fit of hunger, I stopped and bought strawberries and some crazy cookies she makes with corn flakes.  I was hooked and I started going there instead of Lago’s for ice cream.

I felt strange and upset when I read the news while writing my blog post the next morning.  I’m often naïve about life; I wonder how such horrible things could happen in such a short period of time.  I have read the writings of the prophet Jeremiah.  He wrote “the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it.”  Those are hard words to digest.  I don’t have any quick and easy answers.

I’m going to “put a little gravel in my travel,” go home and be with my clan.  Everyone at home is going to celebrate Frank Anicetti’s birthday on Saturday.  Frank runs the Moxie store and museum; he’s kind of famous.  He’s in Stephen King’s latest book, too.  Frank doesn’t care about fame, though.  If you’re near Lisbon Falls, Maine on Saturday, stop in and see Frank and wish him a “Happy Birthday.”  I’ll see you there.

Oh, and next week I’ll take some time to dream.

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