August

 

The moon is still up when we start.  By seven the buckets are full.  We've never grown so many lisianthus as this year, mostly white but some pink.

The beets came in heavy this week, Sister Holly washes all six crates by the wall.

It has been quite the summer of people.  Arriving, learning and then leaving.  August is close to the end of something and we are still picking.  The harbor always holds the last light.