The First Beef Stew of the Season

I made the first beef stew of the season.

It was lovely except there were no peas. There ought to have been peas though they weren’t missed amongst the carrots, potatoes, and green beans, all carrying the dirt of the farm from whence they came, dirt so thick it might have shown fingerprints had I thought to look.

Son Joe was here for dinner. He comes on Tuesday to lift heavy things and do disagreeable tasks, watch Blippi with his niece, and do his laundry. Today, he took all the heavy fans to the attic. This signals the true end of summer and ought to have some kind of chanting ritual, one of gratitude for sure, because wrestling the fans downstairs in the spring was a son of a bitch if you don’t mind my saying. It must have been hot that day for me not to wait for Joe to take the weight off me.

There was also a perfect loaf of bread and pie with whipped cream. I made neither of those. Just the stew.