I finished knitting this hat almost the instant it became summer here in Western New York. When the clouds part for a change and the hollering wind takes a breather, you can just about sit outdoors with your knitting in your lap. It makes a girl feel like maybe she has some control over these things. What if I'd knit faster? Would the peonies be open by now? Summer thoughts start to crowd my mind: as I was sitting down to take this selfie, a teenager with a twangy, away accent knocked on the door to ask if I'd like to have him to paint my barn roof, for a good enough price, and now I feel like I should have hired him. The barn roof is looking a little ragged, which you can obviously tell as you drive by, and as I'm thinking about it, I don't really want Doc to climb up there and do it. Missed opportunity. And now that he's brought it to my attention, it's all I can see, unless I look at the mess that is the raspberry patch, or the weeds in the patio. My farmer neighbor has commenced to tilling his field again, though to what end I still can't tell. As far as I can see, he is tilling it recreationally, because this has been going on for years. He drives back and forth, with that disc cultivator or whatever it's called on the back, and makes his furrows. He goes across it again, in the other direction. His topsoil blows with abandon into my kitchen. Last fall, he worked diagonally, too. A few stakes appear here and there. That's it. Can I just say that I'm hoping for wheat? I don't know why, other than how beautiful would that be in the golden, dusty evenings? How utterly prosaic, and how elegiac, a field of rippling wheat? These are the things that compel me. Wheat is a pretty crop. I am choosing to think today about barns and raspberries and golden growing things. While my heart breaks for our world, I turn my face toward the sun. The hat pattern is here.