I have reflected before that people who need to do archival research Elsewhere in the summer ought not to have gardens, or only the most self-sustaining kind (or hire gardeners, but then what is the point?). Alternatively, perhaps people with gardens ought not to go to libraries and so on that are Elsewhere in the height of growing season.

A large chunk of time today that might have been better spent on the paper went to finishing a chunk of digging and re-planting that I started two weeks ago and then bogged down on. If it were left till I get back, it would all be to do again, not to mention how dreadful it would look in the meantime. More weeding is called for, as is mulch in quantity, but I truly do not have time for that; I will just have to resign myself to hours more when I get back. But at least the front of the house looks like I made some effort.

Really I should leave things like collecting cat meds and cat litter to Sir John (and he’d be the first to say so), but I did those errands, too. So the garden is okay, and the cats have what they need, but I have yet to pack, and I feel I need more time with my books. But maybe the books are just a sort of security blanket.

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