Another week in New York, another measure of progress. Progress is relative of course, but when I say it, I mean progress on the farm, though I did make some progress at work too. But the farm is really coming along. I think another two weeks of work and the place will be right as rain. Which isn't bad for a place that was, effectively, burned to the ground. And you also have to take into consideration that work only started on it in May. So that's not bad.

Anyhoo. New York in August, predictably, was sticky and hot, plus the Republicans were there, so it was extra stinky. Plus some times more than others I feel that Sheltering Sky kind of rootlessness out here, and it helps to be in New York, to bring a little grounding. Only this time didn't bring that so much. Not because of the panic about the convention or the protests, which mostly turned out fairly tame, though there were a thousand people arrested in one day, and just for morbid curiosity, I walked by the actual convention, which was barricaded like a South American prison, three rows of barriors and thousands of cops and special Homeland Security personnel everywhere. But apart from people being jittery, I don't think any real action went down.

Instead of boring you with talk about sweating it out upstate, I'll just tell you this: working for real is a very different than sitting at a desk all day, talking and thinking. I mean, that can be exhausing too, in a way, but it is nothing like actual work, where you carry 75 bags of gypsum and lift them over a 9 foot wall. Because when you really come into contact with brutal, hard work, you remember why they call it work, and I am still of the opinion that people who work make things.