“We are needy creatures, and our greatest need is for home—the place where we are, where we find protection and love. We achieve this home through representations of our own belonging, not alone but in conjunction with others. All our attempts to make our surroundings look right—through decorating, arranging, creating—are attempts to extend a welcome to ourselves and to those whom we love.”
― Roger Scruton
In the last couple of weeks I’ve felt a certain comfort and rest deep in my bones. Maybe it has something to do with having made time for my Hospitality Work. I forced myself to stay home from a couple of events just to recover my peace, which had been disturbed by events hard to explain. Once I was able to focus on my home-work, I also could do it in an honorable way, that is, without hurrying. Instead of “The hurrier I go, the behinder I get,” it’s “Take more time, you’ll get there faster.”
I love to do the dishes calmly, but even when I do, I tend to leave the task before I’m completely done, because I get distracted by a thought, some idea that makes me drop my dishtowel on the counter as I head to the bookcase or the garden and don’t remember to come back until it’s bedtime, and a little late for dishes. Lately, when that happens, I’ve finished up, calmly, self-hospitably, in the morning. So all is good.
I’ve been cooking zucchini (from my three plants) for myself, and serving myself the first Green Doctors cherry tomatoes right off the vine. In this season when I don’t have anyone upstairs to see my bedroom, I make my bed for my own pleasure and so that the rumpled blankets don’t spread their mood to my easily agitated mind.
If I slow down enough, I can look ahead and plan for full days at home, and occasionally plan the night before to make bread the next day. I have done that three times now, with increasing success. It’s not realistic to think that I will make bread more than once every week or two, and my goals must be adjusted from four years ago when I’d first resumed bread baking again, because as with so many things in life, I realize that I can’t have everything I want, even when I am myself the only (human) guest in my home.
This is the last loaf I made, and I’m pretty pleased with it. If I had started the dough the night before it would have been a little more sour; I’m still experimenting. It has what I would consider a good “regular bread” crumb, not custardy, but not doughy or dry, either. I like artisan breads with that custardy and open crumb, but I also don’t like the holes very big, because whatever I put on my slice of toast will melt through them all over my hand and shirt.
The sides did not crack on this one — I recently remembered that 40 years ago when I’d make four or five sourdough loaves at a time, I had to slash them with a straight gash down the middle, not diagonal cuts as I think looks nicer. Otherwise pieces of the top would break off. Maybe that helped take the strain off the sides as well, to keep them from cracking. This loaf has a little whole spelt flour in it, plus sesame, poppy, caraway and fennel seeds.
I got lots of new plants in the ground this month, the latest being portulaca, which I love, but haven’t always had good luck with. Maybe August is the best month to put that in, when the sun is burning down the way those flowers like it.
Once again, I planted nasturtium seeds in various places, early and later, and this year I got one plant to grow. Its first bloom just opened this weekend. Welcome, little flower friend!
I took some papaya peelings and Brussels sprouts trimmings out to add to the worm bucket. And it occurred to me, since worm farming is called vermiculture or vermicomposting, etc., maybe I could call my worms “vermi’s” — what do you think? It sounds cuter than worms. This is what my worms typically look like when I take off the lid of their 5-gallon bucket. I’m always relieved if they are looking alive. When the weather drops to freezing, they are unhappy, and disappear into the center of their habitat to huddle together.
Is anyone among you suffering? Let him pray. Is anyone cheerful? Let him sing psalms. 
St. Luke the Blessed Surgeon was just on point:
Gladsome Lights 