A DAY FOR BELLINIS

                                             David phlox blooms in the intense July heat.

Fixings for Bellinis.

" With my whole body I taste these peaches, I touch them and smell them. Who speaks? I absorb them as the Angevine Absorbs Anjou. I see them as a lover sees, As a young lover sees the first buds of spring And as the black Spaniard plays his guitar. '" Wallace Stevens

While  Spain  dithered, Syria banned the Burka.  France gears up for a tremendous s debate on the constitutionality of its anti-burka law. Strange world. Katherine Mansfield thought so too. Lately, I have been rereading her LETTERS with intent. That led me  to research on a  writer I  have yet to read, the Provencal  poet and naturalist Jean Henry Fabre.   I found his poems online with translations from Provencal to French. I also found his entomology books at online used bookshops. These little jaunts into literary cyberspace have their dangers. Inevitably, I find books I absolutely must have, such as the complete Shakespeare--my late husband got custody of the copy I used to read. He moved to the steppes to set up housekeeping with Gertha Klavichord, a  person of Teutonic extraction, and so it was goodbye Shakespeare. I have replaced the late husband before I replaced  Shakespeare--an omission I am about to correct. 

Buying books when one's stash has already reached critical mass is folly, I know. Surely I can  get Charles Lamb's LETTERS, Fabre's SOUVENIRS ENTOMOLOGIQUES, John Forster's LIFE OF DICKENS from the local library.  The catch is that I want my books at my fingertips for those occasions when I wake up in the middle of the night wondering exactly what Fabre had to say about nougat,  what is the second verse in Walter de la Mare's Song of Enchantment and like that. It happens, you know. I could read some this online I if I were willing to share my bed with my laptop. I can't. There is too serious a risk that the mountain  books  teetering  on my bedside table would choose the occasion to collapse and on it, crushing it forevermore.

So I raise a glass of Belllini made with some divine white peaches I found at our grocery store. Here is to France, Syria and online bookshops!  

DOMESTIC AND LITERARY ARTS

Finally, we have tomatoes. Having taken the trouble to start and cosset seedlings I feel that it is only fair that there should be some reward for entire process. This year my  veggies and herbs are planted in containers. I have switched, reluctantly, to plastic pots. Unglazed terracotta is  aesthetically pleasing, but it allows water to evaporate too rapidly and the result is distressed plants that cannot survive our 100F weather. I also use whisky half barrels which I tuck behind thorny rose bushes to keep the deer away. So far so good. The pear tomatoes are way ahead of the Tigarellas. I  confess that I am impatient for them to ripen. We have been baking bread with  whey  left from goat milk cheese and the idea of bruschetta, chevre and olives  dances in my head.
Working on novels and book reviews takes up most of my time. I have recently posted a review of Robin Oliveira's novel, MARY SUTTER in my book blog, www.richtexts.blogspot.com. This coming week I will be reading from a treasure trove of goodies  I received  Simon and Schuster-- Eric leMay's book about cheese, IMMORTAL MILK,   THE WISDOM OF THE LAST FARMER, David Mas Masumoto's reflections on organic farming, ABIGAIL ADAMS,  a biography, by Woody  Holton , BETWEEN ASSASSINATIONS, a novel by Aravind Adiga, and  THE MADONNAS OF ECHO PARK,   by Brando Skyhorse. Additionally, I will review Carey Wallace's THE BLIND CONTESSA'S WRITING MACHINE and Alan Furst"s SPIES OF THE BALKANS. I am looking forward to a guest post  Carey will be writing for richtexts and I will be giving away a copy of THE BREAKING OF THE EGGS--see richtexts for details.

IT RAINS

Finally, we get the rain the weatherman has been promising. Perhaps this will save the corn crop and the parched gardens. The temperature may drop below 100F and we will throw away our air conditioners. I intend to float paper boats in the creek with help from the neighborhood moppets, in celebration.
There is good news in the automotive front as well--the car passed inspection. Its temperamental air works well enough. I shall kick the tires to make sure the are absolutely A OK.

IT RAINS!

ANI YEHUDI

Too hot to blog. 99F and climbing. The whole week will be just as hot. We live on gallons of iced beverages and chilled fruit. We read and watch movies and try to remember how cold it was this past winter.

WHAT WE DO FOR CHEVRE

The way to Sally’s goat farm is not without perils.  Herds of   suicidal  deer  whose supreme joy is the prospect of  close encounters with compact cars,  lurk in the woods. The ancient trees that border the road tend to shed branches large enough to impede traffic. If that is not exciting enough, we never fail to leave our maps behind. Inevitably, we try to call Sally for directions only to be reminded  that cell phones do not always work in her neighborhood. The best  thing to do in these circumstances is to  go to the Bakerton Fire House where the firepersons know every inch of the county.

“You’re five minutes away almost there, mi’ja,” says a fireperson who will pass us in her  very cool red Mustang convertible a few minutes later.

Our arrival throws  the resident flock of  chickens into a panic. They cluck and run as if  voracious predators were in hot pursuit. We are not that hungry. The goats are, but they usually stick to a vegan diet. The chickens are safe. So are e as long as we keep our hands to ourselves.   Starbuck, an overenthusiastic fan of raw human blood, rushes to the fence in the fond illusion that we will forget that last time we met he thought  my hand with a tasty tidbit. I considered waving a borrowed blood donor card under his nose. He favors O pos. 

     I cast an envious eye on Sally's asparagus and strawberry beds while she fetches fresh eggs from the chicken house. The chickens are not amused. They  cluck  the Internationale. e ignore them. Sally gives us  a  gallon of milk. Later in the day, the infanta ill make make a batch of herbed chevre. The following day she ill collect the hey and soak the cheese in brine  so that it will form a substantial  rind. Friday  we will be bake whey bread for a gathering at Murdoch Mountain.  We hope that Doug will be there with his cello and that  Berto will be there to tell jokes in Nabokovian English. We know  that the hummingbirds will make  an appearance and that we will be able to pick ripe wineberries when we hike to the lake. We will come home at dusk to watch the fireflies bathe  the heart shaped leaves of   the catalpa tree   in flickering greenish light.  We will have a bit more chevre, bread and a glass of wine and we will forget the difficukties of getting to Sally’s place.