Sweetsie woke up late this morning, after 8 o’clock. She wandered into my room (I had already been up for nearly three hours, but I was just then getting dressed). She said, “Mama, I slept a bunch of hours!”

And a little later when I told her to get dressed, “I wanna stay in my nightmare because I don’t wanna get cold in clothes.”

Miss Becca Boo bravely bears the marks of a genuine cat lover.

I spent a lot of time this week tromping along behind this little machine here. Tromp. Tromp. Tromp.

It’s a little machine, isn’t it?

Compared to all this yard?

This is the orchard, and in case you miss the topography for all the lush vegetation, that there is a hill. I didn’t miss it. Though I wished I could have.

(That’s The Baby Nickel down yonder, fiddling with the gas tank. Mr. Handsome is convinced that he’s going to the the one to blow himself up, the way he’s drawn to gasoline and tanks.)

And that wooden structure there (the beginnings of a fort—use your imagination) is close to the ground on the one end. It doesn’t move when you hit it. With your head.

I have several days off before I have to do it all over again.