Mountain Life

After breakfast one morning, standing on the porch of my sister’s cabin, a large brown rabbit came out from behind the wood pile and hopped right up to the steps. With only an indifferent glance in my direction, he began nibbling at the vegetation there. He couldn’t have been two feet away. Sis later explained that he and his family lived under the cabin, which I suppose could account for his blasé attitude toward humans.

It was this day that Sarah discovered that the dead ferns in her asparagus patch were in dire need of chopping. She’s rather famous for her asparagus in these parts. Fancy seaside restaurants call her for it every day it’s in season. So the task was no small matter. It had to be done.

There was also the problem of a thick, thorny vine trying to take over the rosemary. That stuff was vicious. I had to take a bow saw to it.  Ripped holes all over my sweatshirt.

Then came the task of trundling off the refuse. Sarah has a heavy, good-sized wheelbarrow but it was quite a chore getting even that wide balloon tire over the rough terrain.  Fortunately it only took two trips to that distant spot (well, okay, probably not more than a quarter mile) deemed safe for burning. My post-surgical sis faded on the second row of asparagus, but by golly I managed to finish it all before lunch...with the help of a Five-Hour Energy Drink before, and a Hydrocodone after.

My sister has been doing heavy work like this for 27 years. No wonder she’s so tough! Her doctors are astonished at her rate of recovery. Three days out of the hospital, she made the ¾ mile round trip, uphill and down, to the mailbox without even breathing hard. Geeez. It would take me 27 years just to work up to it all.

But enough about the work. I won’t even mention what it took to clean the vintner’s big old bunkhouse on up the mountainside. Next time we’ll just take in the sights.