Maybe... you can never be sure, there'll be knock, ring...

I do love receiving parcels. Even though I’ve bought them myself, there’s something about the sight of them wedged behind the wheelie bin, the anticipation of opening, and the ripping off of the sticky tape that I adore. You’d think having been a nightfiller for years I’d have had my bloomin’ lot of box-opening, but no. Today there were two “ooh”s of excitement as cheese ingredients and seeds drew the race to arrive. To prove how excited this makes me, here is a photo I took of my lovely new starter culture, lipid and veggie rennet for #20.

Also, somewhat less exciting but still groovy, my green manures and some beans to plant out.

As tomorrow is too soon to excavate the shed in search of my millk thermometer and stock pot, I shall try to schedule the first batch of feta making for next weekend.

#6. In other progress, I dusted off my other beloved Marty, my sweet little martin, for some fingerpicking goodness while wee human baby Marty was having her pants-free time on the mat today. I shall count travis picking as progress although it’s technically not new to me, given I’m so rusty I need to work back to slower progressions.

Alas I quickly became distracted seeing which songs Martha reacted to. Am pleased to report she cooed melodically along to A case of you. She only started wailing at the end of Owensboro, which I shall take either as indication she was unhappy to hear that the rich will have to share their pickings with the working poor come judgement day, or she’d had enough music for the day.