The massiveness of July and August weighs heavily upon me. The Big Sky really is enormous this time of year, and in cloudless late afternoons, appears nearly purple, so deep is its crystalline blue. The amount of tasks that can only be dealt with this time of year (oiling the house, stringing fence through the marsh, coaxing lettuce and onions from the earth) overwhelms me. Every day, despite the constant sweeping and mopping and folding, the house seems dirtier, as house guests and family and strangers and honey customers and neighbors and dear friends troop in and out of it, from sunup to sunset.
But it matters not. We’ll get it cleaned up by fall. There are other pressing matters this time of year, too. The high passes and peaks of Glacier are only open for just a few short weeks, and I must go to them, or lose my reason for loving life near Babb.
But for now, I must lay away the lists and the scrubbing and the oiling and even the hiking. It is Monday, and I have been at work all day. There will be no task mastering when I arrive home, tired and somewhat grumpy. Tonight, I will simply try to appreciate the small wonders of this world.
And luckily, appreciating the small wonders of this world is not so hard to do, when at Hillhouse.
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