I suppose it was inevitable. Last week, I ordered two blueberry issues for our farm; Moise has 44 bushes in the ground and says that’s enough for him this year.

We found a good spot towards the rear of the farm – our Zinnia garden – and dog a foot-long hole for each of them, half-filled with peat moss, the other half with soil.

We placed them about five feet apart. Both have new green blueberries sprouting already. Several farmers we know say they’ve never needed to put netting around their plants.

“I give the birds their share,” said one farmer,” and they leave me the rest to sell. “I have enough.”

Maybe we won’t need the settings. I got blueberry bush fever from helping Moise set up his Blueberry patch. I’ve learned so much about blueberry bush planting and care it seemed a shame not to plan someone our farm.

Getting to know the Amish has changed me; I’m thinking a lot about that; I hope to write about it next week.

We’ll be off to Vermont this afternoon back Sunday morning. We have a great system for these get-a-ways.

The dogs get to stay on the farm, the farm caretaker has known all of them since they came, she loves them dearly, and I couldn’t swear that they even know we are gone.

I am pleased with my young Zinnia-raised bed garden. I learn a lot from my mistakes, which is a good thing since I make a lot of mistakes. This, of course, is my squawk with too much-unwanted advice.  I don’t want to never make mistakes. they are the best way to learn.

John Gray wrote that to offer a person unsolicited advice is to presume that he or she doesn’t know what to do or that he or she can’t figure out how to do it on their own.

I never give advice unless someone asks me for it.

The advice I give myself is to not be that person who gives out unsolicited advice based on their own personal experience or that of their aunts and uncles.

That rarely has anything to do with me. I need to make my own way in the world when it comes to identity. I don’t care for other people telling me how to be. It leaves too much junk floating around in my head.

All the seeds I’ve planted are coming up; I’m weeding out many of the new ones. I’ve learned some lessons. I planted too early and carelessly. It won’t happen again. I’m thinking of getting a second raised garden; one of the Amish boys says he will make it for me.

I’m excited about having a quiet day in a beautiful place with no distractions and nothing to do but read and talk to Maria. I brought some Almond Oil to take. I hope to wake her up with a loving message. Her tired feet will thank me.