Not a breath of air. It seems that hurricanes in the Gulf or Atlantic suck all the air out of Wisconsin.

Appears to be a bumper crop of corn out in the fields.
Locally, the squash are out of control in the garden. Need a better system, maybe something like Abby’s terraces—or perhaps asking Vi if she would be willing to donate half her yard, thus letting the vines grow freely south.

Noisy village is extraordinarily quiet. Only sound for the past hour has been the neighbor, through the back yard and two doors down, practicing her violin.