September 1, 2010. Wednesday.
Situation: Have to work tonight, and I need to leave about 3:45. (About my night and weekend work, I’d like to say that there’s no limit to the amount of preparatory work, to maintain a certain level of performance, that I can do, the many hours of which are not directly billed to anyone; if I were to calculate these hours into what I do get paid, I would probably arrive at a sub-minimum wage – I have not been making mention of this preparatory work in this journal, and, though I say I have to work tonight, I’ve actually already worked about 3 hours this morning – and this is typical for any given day.) That means I’ll have to take Mway for a walk about 2:30, to do all the things I want to do. Right now Mway and Moi are taking a nap, but whenever they get up, Mway and I will be going for a walk.
State of the Path: The ground is again turning white. In the old orchard, next to the Boy’s tree fort is another tree that looks like it has a fort, for all the monkey vines that clamber up it. Though I clipped some of the branches on the multiflora near the hedgerow yesterday, some of its other branches still snag me on the shoulder. As I pass through the goldenrod that rises like a ten-foot green and yellow maze all around me, I feel like I can’t breathe. Down by the creek, I’m already getting too hot. Is the vine I see down here some sort of morning glory, or is it more of that bindweed? – I don’t see any big trumpet flowers on it. I’m still disappointed no dayflowers have bloomed (I see some these days in the garden, where I also see another wildflower I don’t see along the path: one of my favorites, foxtail, with its caterpillar-like flowers that turn silver after a frost). Lots of bumblebees (but no honey bees – ours must stick by the house), monarchs (or viceroys), black and tiger swallowtails, cabbage butterflies, yellow sulphors (is there such a thing? spelling?), fritillaries, something that looks like a cecropia moth, black wings with an orange mark.
State of the Creek: For some reason, the pool at the log jam has turned cloudy and chalky, while the other pools remain clear.
The Fetch: Up at the clearing – guess what? – Mway fetches the stick more times than I care to throw it. I take delight that, on our way back, Mway, who tries to pass me like an aggressive driver, can’t get past me until we reach the walled garden.
