Well, T is off cutting hay, I’m sitting under the locust tree delaying the transcription project I was going to do, having discovered I can tap into T’s wifi. Dangerous. — Oh, he’s back, we’re going to the deli, which is ultra Pennsylvanian somehow. Wegman’s. Older man’s loading his car while I wait for T, he’s got three quarts of local strawberries in the back, I admire them loudly, his wife insists I try one. Mm. Nice folks.
Also I made rhubarb compote a la Smitten Kitchen, picked after we planted (T) and weeded (me) in the morning. I doubt I will be turning it into tarts, though. And it is a bland brown color, not the garnet red or tourmaline pink every food blogger seems to get from her rhubarb, even sans strawberries. But very tasty.