The Bugs are Coming

It rained through the night and when I woke it was still raining. I stayed in bed and let it do what it must. Even after I was up and about, I worked inside until the sun was out for a while. I worked on the cedar cladding again and probably only have another few days work to go until the new part is done. I’ll need more insulation though.

Then I went to the road and fetched my alphasmart cable so I could get some use out of the computer and then worked on peeling, limbing, and cutting off the roots of the tree that fell in the winter and I am thinking of turning into a bridge. I also winched it off the white ash it crushed as it fell but they look a little too bent to spring back. They will live, but be bent as they grow.

The bugs were quite vicious as I left the creek, which makes me wonder anew about the bridge. There is no rush during bug season. No one is going to visit me this time of year. Instead, anyone who is going to come arrives in a big flurry at the end of the year, usually arriving all together.

I got my computer working well this evening and then did some editing on the station story. It is around eight thousand words long and I think once I fix it up and do some research to bolster some of the guessing, it should be a decent story.

Slugs were moving in the cool of evening when I went to check on the garden, so I dunked three of them. I need to isolate that garden soon, for they killed a zucchini today, and now there are one zucchini and two potatoes plants in that plot. They’d love to get their foot on a potato plant.

About Barry Pomeroy

I had an English teacher in high school many years ago who talked about writing as something that people do, rather than something that died with Shakespeare. I began writing soon after, maudlin poetry followed by short prose pieces, but finally, after years of academic training, I learned something about the magic of the manipulated word.
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