Wassail, traveler, and welcome to The Gable Grey -- a place of retreat, of renewal, and of resistance: a tree-shaded refuge in Dark Times. Now pass the threshold, and rest from journeys! For a cold wind is blowing; and here, if you wish, you may hear tidings of the world without...

Sunday, January 2, 2011

Good Things

Just finished a 6-day work week. Got the store through the busiest week of the year, mostly intact. Looks like I'll get to keep my job there a little while longer.

Got a little work done on the poultry yard today. It is nearly finished. Hopefully I'll be able to allow the flock out to graze; it'll be good for them, since the yard's been lying fallow for well over a year now.

Worked with Belle on her bike-riding some. It's early for her to learn without training wheels -- at least, everyone else says so -- but she's coming along. Very tiring for me, though, running alongside or behind her all the time. Got to ride my new electric blue Schwinn today... a wonderful feeling. Really takes me back to when a bicycle meant real freedom. Thinking about naming it Ringil.

Bought some more silver on the 'Bay today, three beautiful Morgan silver dollars. I can't wait to see how silver performs in the coming weeks... that, and crude oil. Should be most interesting!

Got to get some more topsoil into the garden soon, and the cow manure as well. April will be here before I know it. I may start my tomatoes early, in the sunroom.

Glad the holidays are over. They were good for me and mine, but I'd almost forgotten how much I love our regular routine.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Whiles carried o'er the iron road,
We hurry by some fair abode;
The garden bright amidst the hay,
The yellow wain upon the way,
The dining men, the wind that sweeps
Light locks from off the sun-sweet heaps --
The gable grey, the hoary roof,
Here now -- and now so far aloof.
How sorely then we long to stay
And midst its sweetness wear the day,
And 'neath its changing shadows sit,
And feel ourselves a part of it.
Such rest, such stay, I strove to win
With these same leaves that lie herein.

-- William Morris, from
"The Roots of the Mountains"