I awaken slowly to some wonderful songs from the thirties -- one by Louie Armstrong that I've never heard, called "Sleepyhead." Blanco and Blanco are on already? I have slept through Radio France from start to finish? The clock confirms my worst fear --7:30?!? How can that be?
Well, I do know how. We were up until midnight last night, that's how. I am never up until midnight. You may have heard of me -- I am the American who never saw Saturday Night Live, never saw Jack Parr or Johnny Carson, has never seen Nightline or Letterman or Leno or Conan and never will.
But I was entranced by being able to work in the garden in good light until after eight at night, and so I didn't even start dinner until 8:30 and we didn't eat until 9:15. It was elegant and all, but still. Then I had a deadline to combat, and didn't finish until midnight. Midnight.
Well, that's what daylight savings is for -- farmers like me, who have other jobs. People with gardens. Two or three blessed hours of the loveliest light God sends to earth, the elegeiac slanting sunlight of evening. A good time to transplant, nestling little plants into their new homes in the coolness, so that they have a whole night of darkness to get used to their new surroundings before the sun comes out and they have to get to work.
I'll get used to it, and get my early mornings back very soon. The birds will awaken us early each day, and -- once again -- I'll find a way to integrate the garden into everything else God has given me to grow.
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