Do you remember this photo that I posted in April? I mentioned that I thought the plant in the center with reddish leaves was a volunteer lettuce or a volunteer chickory. It was chickory. When it bolts, it sends out curly things with sweet blue flowers all over that the bees love, love, love. This is what it looks like now:
And here is another photo:
Life still feels electric and heightened. I'm not up or manic, though. In fact, I'm feeling quite a bit of physical pain lately. Everything feels big -- important but hard.
Tonight we're heading up to my mom's house because she's got a good spot for watching fireworks from all over the area. I made hummus and raita, picked some snap peas from the garden, gathered some other vegetables, and stocked up on whole wheat pitas. I don't like fireworks (hello? PTSD and fireworks don't mix), and I feel cranky and hormonal, but my chores are done, and I'm trying to get mellow so that I will be pleasant to be around this evening. (Isn't it sad when we have to try to be pleasant? I even put perfume on this morning before walking in a neighborhood parade because I feared I just stunk wretchedness.)
Here is a picture of our zen berry picker. She just tunes out the whole world, becomes one with the bees, and sinks into the raspberries. It's pretty amazing to watch her work. Sadly, the results are always in her belly -- even when she goes out with a container to pick berries for later.