We’ve entered the segment of the growing season in which we need to flex the time and location of farm work. You can only take so much midday greenhouse time (before you get sun stroke for real, not just the musical). The afternoons are slow to relent, so today I moved the seeding operation to the picnic table in the shade where I could take in the merciful touch of a gentle breeze. It meant planting by hand instead of using the vacuum seeder, but I much prefer this alternative location, accompanied by songbirds rather than the hum of a machine. I fell into the familiar cadence and ease of solitary work, intermingled with the elementary happiness and hope of seeding new life.