And what is so rare as a day in June?

The twelfth of June, Broken Hearts Manor — Queen Anne’s lace is coming up everywhere in the gardens, but it is one of the few “weeds” I do not pull out with the thistles and burdock. It reminds me of the endless languid summers of my youth, walking down the lane from my grandparents’ cottage in Michigan and picking black-eyed Susans and Queen Anne’s lace from the roadside, bundled up in a mess to bring back for a big green glass vase. A weed after all is just a plant where it isn’t wanted, and the airy white umbels of lace smell and look nice, and bring a swarm of pollinators to boot. It can stay.

And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays:
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten.

— James Russell Lowell, "The Vision of Sir Launfal" (1848)

On the value of leisure

There continues to be plenty to do—plants to be planted and watered, outdoor projects from painting to cleaning off the outdoor furniture, produce of the garden coming on for preserving soon enough. But early June also reminds me to pause, to take a break from the activity and breathe in the air, feel the dew on the grass, and watch the birds. It’s the ending of the school year, and although school days are long-distant for me (even college, though I attended a liberal arts college with the quaint tradition of quarters rather than semesters and we too ended in June) there is something that nevertheless remains deeply settled in my sense of time about June and September and the cadence of the year.

And so, although life goes on every day, we must also remember to live it. To settle into the days, not just conquer their agenda. It’s the time of year for a hot cup of midmorning coffee despite the rising heat outside. For a spontaneous visit from a friend for conversation and a peach crumble (peaches from the freezer, but also rhubarb and blueberries straight from the garden). For a last-minute visit from the niblings for the weekend with a request to make homemade sushi together. What is it we’re doing all this for: all this growing of food, if not to eat together at the table; all this cleaning off the outdoor furniture, if not to sit around with loved ones and chat into the night with a fire? The longest day approaches, celebrate the light and energy of summer now.

Your future self thanks you

And so, amid my reminders to leisure, I don’t exactly have an excess of practical progress to report this week, but I can leave you with one piece of practical advice from my peach crumble. As you have more fruit than you can deal with this summer, there are of course all of the usual methods of preserving it—jams and jellies, freezing or canning. But here’s something I did last year that always makes me impressed at how smart my past self was: make up some pie filling in advance and freeze it in the shape of a pie plate. That is, don’t just freeze fruit whole or in pieces, but mix it up with a thickener (I like tapioca in fruit pies), a bit of sugar if it’s tart, and whatever spices you like, seal it into a plastic bag, and place it in a pie plate in the freezer until frozen. You can take it out and put it right into a blind-baked crust or straight into a plate and add a crumb or oat topping and bake it from frozen. Spend a few extra minutes while you’re in the kitchen anyway to save some later when you’ll want them back.

This week’s notes

It’s been both warm and rainy and that’s been a boon to the garden, all the summer vegetables and herbs are coming strong. I planted out basil just a couple of weeks ago and have already been harvesting pretty heavily. The peas planted out from seed in March have bloomed and we’ll have pods soon. The rhubarb has been a bit slow (just transplanted it back into the back garden last year) but I’ve had a little, as well as some early blueberries from some we just planted this year that were already in flower in pots.

Until next week,

The Farmer-General