I only posted three times in the whole month of April. That seems like a rather extreme dropoff. On the flipside, it will be pretty easy to do more in May, and since this is now post #2, things are looking rosy.

My plant sale is in less than two weeks. I am all aquiver, my farmer is like, ‘yeah, lets put up a table and see what we have that’s big enough’. I may need to adjust my level of ‘get ready’, and by a lot. maybe this is the notoriously stoic new england farmer thing? i’m quiet but pretty far from stoic. epic, yes, but not stoic.

This week my chicken chores expanded a whole bunch, in helping the farmer move the birds from one coop to another. It was a lot. I realized my age and how far I am from being a farmer. It is good to remember how much they do, and how nonstop their work is, and then pay more for the food they give us, because we should. It costs more energy and life force to plant and grow a real-life cucumber than it does to make a hotdog. It really does. But hot dogs have so many machines involved, so much shipping, so many ingredients we should probably care a whole lot about. Why can we buy a whole pack of hotdogs for so cheap? Why? Eat more cucumbers. Put ketchup on it, I don’t care.

Roe v. Wade is about to be overturned. I never have had an abortion but don’t judge any one who has, because fertility and womb care is for each woman to do, forever and ever, amen. Intensely personal life choices are supposed to be private, and sacred. Now my daughter, my nieces? will not have access if they don’t want to have a baby? I guess the state I live in is more important than ever. If she stays here, it will always be an option for her. I guess if we go from electing a president who thinks grabbing pussy is a thing, it makes sense that we end up with less freedom over our own lives than we had before our pussies got grabbed.

Sigh. That just put me off my writing mood.

woman protesting for women s rights
Photo by Duané Viljoen on


If you are a woman.

If you are a woman reading this, then hear me.

I got my period.

If you are a woman who has been reading here and concerned about my morose writing, then you can understand that there has been a lightening.

AND, if you are of a certain age, you understand me when I say that I have no tools for predicting this thing anymore, and IT IS MAKING ME INSANE. clearly.


(they were all real emotions but my god, the fucking seriousness of them swamped me. I mean, I literally doubled my antidepressant for a few days- with dr. approval. i fucking wore sweatpants out of the house, y’all. Don’t ask me why I feel this matters so much. I can wear leggings and go braless all the days, but fucking sweatpants?! Holy shit. It was a sign of the end.)

All the issues are still with me, all the worries, the world, the fears, the all of it.

But now I feel like I am just carrying me, the pressure has released.


  • and thats all i have to say about that. (right now i’d punch forest gump in the face if he were here. tom hanks or not. )
  • love love,
  • kate
man doing boxing
me, slightly more masculine than in reality, punching Tom Hanks. Photo by Pixabay on