I had decided long ago to stop trying to be a food journalist blogger, but this deserves a mention.

Wal-Mart Move ‘TIpping Point’ for Driving Monsanto’s Bovine Growth Hormone off the Market

I don’t know what to say. I’d like to say, “Woo hoo, go Wal-Mart!” but my throat closes up and I get dizzy.

Jeez, it’s like Predator Meets Alien, right? Maybe the only corporation evil and big enough to meet Monsatan in the ring is Voldemart. Seriously, I am stunned. There has GOT to be a catch.

And I’m sitting here trying to lower my adrenalin from a very, very busy week at work. Can’t tell you just how nice to was to wrap most of the important stuff up and sit on the back deck with a book! I finished The Memory of Old Jack by Wendell Berry this week, and started What We Keep by Elizabeth Berg.

I’ve fallen in love with Wendell Berry’s novels after being an admirer of his nonfiction and poetry. Now I’m trying to go through his fiction from the beginning, because I am so interested in the lives of his characters. They remind me of my older relatives and to some extent of my childhood in tobacco farming country, when there were general stores with woodstoves and hoop cheese and somehow we managed to survive without Wal-Marts and K-Marts just fine, imagine that! That’s one reason that it’s so easy for me to boycott Wal-Mart – I know that it’s possible. It baffles me when people claim that they can’t.

The cherry trees in the front have exploded with pinkish white blossoms and standing under them looking up fills me up with joy.

I took down and put away the row covers this week, and I’m looking forward to taking down the greenhouse, maybe on Sunday. It was close to 80 today but the high on Sunday is supposed to be only in the forties. The Back Forty is looking better and better and I’ll try to take photos this weekend.

Today a -ahem- younger person asked me if I had plans for the weekend, and said that he was sorry when I said that I didn’t. (Actually, I have, but he wouldn’t have been interested.) I told him that I had reached the age – good God, y’all – that I had reached the age when I think having no plans for the weekend is a good thing. I really didn’t think that when I started typing that that it would sound so…well, anyway.

I’m going to weave now.