Well, of course not with Patti Smith.  But she and friends were playing Grateful Dead covers as a radio soundtrack to the mess in the kitchen.  It's funny how a few small things with some reminiscent nostalgia make for an awesome Saturday morning.

It starts while taking breakfast scraps to the chickens, there were roses along the path.  Lots of roses.  Hanging in dewy clusters and tinged with guilt.  Begging to have been combined with the rhubarb also along the path.  And so the morning was set...

Chopping rhubarb, washing petals, rinsing the red currants.  Place them in their respective pots to bubble into jam.  Smoke from the smoker drifts in through the open screen porch door.  Pork belly being transformed into the magic of bacon.  Vanilla rising with the steam out of the pot.  Kids trenching muddy rivers in the hedgebed.  Molly barking at that dangblasted squirrel, or its equally irritating progeny, again!  Hot soapy water for Gem jars.  Flatbread baking in the stove.  Rattly canner lid.  A cacophony of sounds, smells, textures so specific to time and place it makes my heart ache while smiling.  Fleeting beauty.  I'm such a sucker for it.


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