Unloved Parts

The rake and I trudged deeper waters today.  If you are like me, then the world "algae" brings to mind a few adjectives.  Gooey, green, slimy, smelly.......?  Not here it doesn't.  Algae, in the land of the pond, here in Habří, is like a neverending glob of synthetic green hair.  It runs deep down to the roots of plants to suck out all of the nitrogen.  It prevents staring at pebbles and provokes no one into the water for fear of some hidden monster underneath.  Clean that out?  Sheeeeet man.  I scratch my head and look at the "pond".  The "pond" is a series of three small swimming pools that are connected by a stream and that cover about the same area as my cult de sac at home.  Then all of a sudden a little hint of glee and excitement ran through my own stream of blood.  A small picture of fly fisherman's coveralls came into my mind.  They were hanging in one of the workshops.  I very well knew that they were a Two Ton Tilly size too big but the joy that I could see unfolding in the future was insurmountable.  I ran in to the workshop, slipped into my new outfit, and trotted across the worksite with the sound of the cats call egging me on.  Hours and hours of detangling and hauling out huge masses of the algae.  wrestling with the roots and the pebbles.  It was like weeding underwater.  Only more fun.  My legs were suctioned and chilled, my hands were pruney, the algae was beastly as ever and never seemed to stop from appearing.  Lunch at twelve was especially silly with the boys today.  As I slipped out of my wonder suit I was in for a new sort of wrestling.

Somehow after being misled by the dictionary Petr and I wrested over it.  Luckily for me, we were pretty equally matched.  He was deathly ticklish and it made up for me being, well, a girl.  While we both ended up in the recycling bin we admired how the light shown on us through different variants of plastics and somehow managed to get back to work.  

The weekend began when Jitka was tucked away in the barn and all was cleaned and put away.  It ends when my alarm goes off in the morning to begin the morning milking once again.  I think I will dream of some far off farm boy tonight and imagine him harvesting the ripe beets of the future.  Or so I hope anyways.

Sorry for such a sloppy post.