(Sorry, William James. (The American philosopher))

So here's breakfast—two perfectly poached eggs on Manitowoc Ovens toast, the eggs laid yeserday at the Janowiec family farm. You know it is a great egg when the shell is so thick you have to whack it twice on the edge of a pan to get it to break. You also know it is a great egg when you eat it.

Then, it being a perfectly pefect day, and after Pax got in his long loop walk around town, and I got in a haircut six weeks later than necessary, I rode the motorcycle to Palmyara where I found farmer Carol, who sits all day long on the bed of her truck, every day, rain or shine vending her produce. I bought half a dozen of corn (not needing tomatoes or peppers and she having no melons, in the agricultural sense of that term).

Departing Palmyra I rode to the Broken Fence Farm south of Whitewater to see about ordering a turkey for Thanksgiving, as I did last year, though I was full of what Kierkeggard called "fear and trembling," because I suspected Broken Fence Farm would be no longer a farm, while quite likely to still have a broken fence. Sad to say, my worst fears were realized. The proprietress informed me that running a large-scale hobby farm was just way too much work, and she and her family now grew just for their family.

Although my disappointment was obvious, I let her know that I completely understood.

Which brings me back to the Whitewater garden. Gardens, above all, must be aesthetically pleasing, and this one is not. It's A snarly, tangled, ugly beast. So, Sue being off south on her regular Illinois visit, I got around to making a first pass at cleaning up the mess. Mostly weeds and vines, but many cherry tomatoes (strangely, ONLY cherry tomatoes) and a few squash.]

Only one of which is really a keeper.