 Masks on the Fisher Farm farmers this year, and on me. No tantalizing bins a-bloom with leafy greens, bright carrots, radishes, turnips, displayed around the shed-space. No leisurely browsing and choosing just the right head of lettuce that calls to me. Only a big brown paper bag, filled to the top with plastic-bagged goodies. We still choose our own wrapped flower bouquet. Changes may not be ideal, but they’re better than cancellation. I’ll take it. Dinner salads this week have been heaven. My 60th year in 60,000 words Day 290: 82 words, TOTAL = 48,310; 11,690 remaining |
AuthorRobin Clifford Wood is a writer and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband and dogs, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her grown children and their multi-species families. Archives
March 2021
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