Ahh, summer bliss

Ahh, summer. Isn’t it grand?
I stepped out the door one recent morning and the smell of drying grass and petunias assailed me.
Then the aroma of ripening raspberries tickled my palate, so I stepped into the patch to partake of my morning aperitif.
Nothing sets up your palate for toast and coffee at the Bakery like a few handfuls of luscious, ripe red raspberries.
I paid no mind at all to the scolding robins who were trying to run me out of their private preserve.
I then did a circle check of the garden. The flowers were in full bloom and it looks like I’ll have a big enough increase in dahlia tubers to decorate quite a few gardens next year.
A long English cucumber was found hiding under the vines on the trellis just waiting to be plucked. And voila! There was the first ripe tomato of the season.
Guess what’s for lunch? I must pick up a fresh loaf of toasting bread.
A short time later at the Bakery, Pickle was holding forth on the state of the wild blueberry crop—or lack thereof.
“Nada! Nothing! Zilch! Even Clarence can’t find any,” he bemoaned as he slathered a quarter-inch of peanut butter on his toast with all the expertise of an accomplished brick layer.
“How’s the sweet corn coming, Elliott? Which night should I hit the patch?” he quizzed, brightening considerably.
“Another week should do it,” I replied. “But watch out for the fence. The voltage on it really p@#$ed off a skunk the other night—literally.
“Just follow your nose and you’ll find your way into the patch no matter how dark it is,” I advised.
“The charge is $3 a dozen, with all proceeds going to the Rainy River locum house [and] payment being strictly on the honour system,” I added.
“The locum house? What do we need that for?” chirped in Moose, the debating table’s chief skeptic.
“To maintain our medical staff coverage,” I explained. “It’s highly important to guys like you and me who are in definite danger of suffering life-threatening injuries at most any time.”
“Oh!” scoffed Moose haughtily.
“Yeah, if either of us tick off our wives just one more time. . . .” I warned.
Finally, my annual advisory for all you considerate folks. Evict all the spiders, wasps, mice, raccoons, or other vermin from that abandoned outhouse.
Supply it with a few copies of the paper—preferably the editorial page—and put up a welcome sign.
With the fresh produce supply hard upon us, you never know when you or one of those neighbours out stretching their legs might get caught short.
Oh, and Pat from Arbor Vita, you are more than welcome to help yourself to some sweet corn. A few ripe ears will really go well with that roast groundhog.
Dig up a few potatoes, as well.

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