It was one of those days where the heat finally gave up its assault and allowed us some respite. When that happened, we sat on the front porch and watched the sun setting away into the west while we sipped cool cans of medicinalade.
I made a remark that I thought I was losing some weight.
Lanie looked over at me and asked how I had come to that conclusion.
I said that of late I’d run out of notches on my belt.
“You don’t have any hips,” she said, “you’re carrying all your weight in front of you. It’s a male thing I see plenty of men around town built a bit like you.”
I sat for a while taking in what she had said. Trying to ascertain if what she had said was a compliment or not.
Meanwhile inside I felt a surge of pride knowing I must be losing some weight. I wasn’t sure how that could be the case as I ate well and often.
“You have to do more exercise,” she said, “our bodies thrive on exercise.” I knew she thrived on exercise, as it was up each morning and out pounding the pavement, walking for a good hour before coming back and readying herself for work.
She didn’t carry much weight, and I was envious of her figure and her resilience in maintaining an exercise regime I found difficult to manage.
I went in to get us another cool one and returned to find her looking out over the southern boundary to where the river wound its way through the farms built on the flood plain. The front porch gave us a great view across the farm and as we watched the farmer and his kids were heading across their land to where they had a crop of watermelons growing.
This was to be our entertainment as we watched the harvest begin. There always seemed to be something the farmer complained about, and the kids were not backward in voicing their concerns back at their father. It always amazed me that the harvest time seemed to bring out the worst in all of them.
For several hours they went at it hammer and tongs. Raised voices, expletives firing left and right, and the innocent melons being thrown from one to the other. They filled huge boxes on a trailer they dragged behind their tractor and by the time night had made seeing impossible they had filled the boxes and were off to prepare them for market the next day.
With the entertainment at an end, it was time for us to go in as the mozzies were just getting started and Lanie was particularly attractive to them.
In the kitchen, the slow cooker was finishing off our dinner, and I looked forward to tasting tonight’s fare.
Lanie was a fine cook, she produced great meals, and on clear nights we sat on the front porch, when the mozzies were away, to enjoy our dinner and the view.