In addition to the Christmas fruitcake, Kathy V. sent three little pots of homemade jam: raspberry, blueberry, and apricot. I try not to be prejudiced, but I will admit to a preference for apricot anything. Toast and apricot jam last night put the taste of summer in my mouth. Now she's got me thinking about fresh sweet corn and watermelon. Back in the day, before so much produce was imported, we were all seasonal eaters. Spring was rhubarb and baby asparagus. Summer was, as I said, sweet corn and watermelon. Fall brought butternut squash, and in winter we went to dried lima beans and ham hocks, soups and homemade bread. Now it's difficult to tell the seasons because fresh produce of all types is available all year round.
I know it's officially winter and the thermometer proves it, but the days are almost imperceptibly getting longer. Daybreak is a few minutes earlier and I don't have to put the girls to bed until 5 p.m. now. For awhile there, I had to head out at 4. The last few days have been rain free, but the next four are predicted to be wet again.
Bessie Anne lazed around all day yesterday. I think she's over whatever ailed her, for which we're both grateful. I've had a bit of a wonky hip lately, so was also thankful that Helper Dude could come over to unload the feed bags from the truck and haul the 75-pounder down to the barn, climb up on a step stool to change an overhead light bulb, and restock the wood rack. If I can't do the work myself, I'm a great supervisor.
It will take awhile to get out of the California drought, but with the rain we've gotten of late, I think there'll be enough ground water to risk a garden this year. Sitting on the porch on a summer's day shelling fresh peas sounds heavenly. I can taste them now.