Part II: The rain has stopped, for now, and the fresh smell of soil from the garden bombards his nose; Indigo Rose tomatoes, Genovese basil, wild marjoram and Japanese eggplant, all glistening as if bejeweled by liquid diamond droplets. His well-worn oak chair groans and creaks in protest as he leans forward, shifting his weight first, before being drawn inextricably back into motion. The day is yet young, but already clay sticks tenaciously to the bottoms of his boots as he traverses the yard; he does not mind for the worked leather keeps him dry. Lime zest green eyes blaze with excitement beneath the rim of his sweat stained hat as he dodges around branches hung heavy with pluots, and betwixt black cherries merrily alighting, on his way to the trees at the edge of the woods. Boar’s bristle, hemp rope, blueberry and cacao come to mind as he squints into the shadows, thinking of purple peppercorn elk medallions seared in cast iron with rosemary blood orange steelhead skewers over red hot coals culminating in mulberry pie with glycyrrhiza glabra to nibble, on the side, and cola to slake his thirst.

notes by clay selkirk, winemaker & all around cowboy