fennel friday

I spent most of the day outside today. We walked around the boro before my weggys run, after we went for a walk to the park and back. I didn't think to bring the blanket so we laid in the grass without it. Home again, we napped on the couch, then I got to work in the yard. The side of the garage has been a distant boundary from the perspective of the house, but from off the property it's an entry, and now I'd rather build from that perspective. I had a disorganized woodpile and scattered bricks there and have been procrastinating organizing it all. Once I started, the work went quickly aided by having since established a place for everything to go, which made today's effort feel more like putting things away than contriving purpose and place for them. I sorted the smaller twigs and larger sticks into two buckets that I stored inside the garage with the Dutch oven. I still need to make a plan for the largest of the logs, though the more readily burned branches have been segmented off awaiting a bonfire.

I wore gloves and long sleeves and made it through with only a small scratch on my wrist. I knew there was thorny growth so I was trying to be more mindful than usual. In the past I've gotten myself stung and cut up blindly bushwhacking. I found a few spiders and ants today, then a snake. I yelped and ran then realized I didn't even recognize the species. The American Hitchhiker's Guide is shorter than the British one, "Panic and shoot". I have more specific field guides for the trees, birds, and fungi of the area but not one for snakes, and given that the library is closed right now and that I have limited Internet access, identification might have to wait.

I bought a carton of tomato soup earlier that I heated up while I made rice and a grilled cheese. I figured I'd make pudding out of the leftover rice for dessert but made an espresso martini instead. I don't have vodka so used sambuca. I haven't tried that before though I have had a little sambuca with espresso so it didn't seem too far off, just boozier and more anise-y. In the morning sometimes the scent of the anise hyssop fills the backyard air that wafts into the kitchen while I fix my coffee. I thought the cinnamon in the pudding would transport me farther back, then drunken nostalgia took me to memories formed barely twelve hours ago and to the heavy handed dose of fennel in the peppers and onions I brought to the neighbors' last Friday.