Roots

I’m propagating rosemary right now. There are little stalks in glasses of water, one right here on the desk and a few on the fireplace mantle. Another on the nightstand.

I peer through the glass a few times a day, looking for little rootlets. Wispy, white threads winding around the bottom of the glass.

They’ve started. I grab a few and stick them into potting mix. They’ll either make it or they won’t.

These are for next year. And the year after.

I tore out the floor in the old bedroom a few days ago. It’s piled in the yard, waiting to be burned. I’ll cover the ground with rocks – field stone – and ultimately pour a concrete slab over all of that. It will be phase two in the overall house rebuild project.

I’m in no special hurry. I do it as time and finances allow. The rocks will sit there a while. Everytime I plow a field I’ll bring down another wagon load, lay down another layer of stone. It’ll all be nice and settled by the time I get around to pouring slab.

I’ve making time for camping and fishing this summer. Those are things that don’t always get done every year, but, this year, I’m making sure they do. It’s a lot easier when there’s a nine year old around. He’s always up for an adventure.

We stress the basics this year. Tent pitching. Sleeping bag stuffing. Casting. The stuff that sticks with you your whole life.