Went to town to do some long neglected tasks: pay taxes (so they don't auction off my farm next week), pay car insurance (reinstated upon payment), get another car key (one lost somewhere the last two months), get food (eggs and tuna fish are fine, but after 10 days or so, it gets a little old. . . ), tell some friends, who didn't know (yes, I cried).

Coming home, just before dark, I took the long way, Thorn Creek Road, which winds along the Blackthorn. The river here runs on its slate bottom, and is black itself except for steps, stairs and rapids which produce white. Tonight, for some reason it was especially beautiful. More beautiful than I've ever seen it. The black blacker and shinier; the white of the small rapids brighter and glossier. It was warm and my window was open and it all smelled wonderfully fresh and clean.

Closer to home, and nearly dark. a pair of young deer, still showing faint spots were gamboling in the road, then ran up the hill and raced me for half a mile, just for the sheer joy of it I think.

In all, I am reminded why I picked this place in the beginning. And why the farm was named What Joy.