This morning was just like old times out in the back yard with an old friend and a few of the nieghbors. We went through two pots of coffee talking about fishing, aliens, religion, and the poor cat next door who just got spade and was staring at us from the window with a cone around her neck.
A fertility fantasy: Having twenty children and a big farm in Alaska. Keep them isolated from humanity, taught the art of war, poetry, and sewing. Write up a family code of laws and design a family crest. Emerge from the wilderness decades later, after the children have all had 20 children of their own, a tribe of genetic material ready to conquer the globe or at least city hall.
I really believe the mormons are on to something.
Another thing I noted, sitting in the sun this morning, was that the pear tree is producing fruit, not very much but a few small, tart pears. The year before last, we only got one pear. Think of it, all summer that overgrown tree reached skyward soaking up untold giga watts of solar energy only to produce one lonely pear. What a ripe piece of fruit though, bursting with sun juice.
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