I woke up from a dream about climbing a mountain with Claire and her mother, Nancy, neither of whom are on the trip. And then I started the day in the pouring rain, waiting for the buses to show up and take us across Iowa.

Though I'm totally convinced about the redemptive powers of biking for the environment, there are no illusions in my mind about this thing, Ragbrai in general, being anything like environmentally sustainable or good. Don't get me wrong - this is quite fin so far, but these bikers aren't the carbon vegans that I'm used to biking with.

The short list of other discoveriies: people who are bothered by trains at night are philistines and wimps, public swimming pools are somehow both completely gross and completely great.

Now on to the first day of riding.

After a weekend of family togetherness in Florida, and three days of work in Chicago (a lot for me now-a-days), I got to spend all of 28 hours at home before setting out on a week-long bile trip across Iowa: RAGBRAI. It's 6 days of 70 mile days, this year starting in Missouri Valley, and ending up on Le Claire, where we're staying tonight. I've been training for this for the last 3 months, making this the first time I've ever put my mind AND body toward anything like a sport. George says thatvall we have to do is survive through Monday, and we'll be fine. Given my history of athsma and sloth,survival may be more if a question for me than for him.

Though I went to college near here, I don't think I've ever been on the Iowa side of the quad cities before. What I can tell on the dark and rain is about what I expected: sprawl, a Target, and a drive-through Bible Chapel.

We set out tomorrw for MV at 6:30am (not 6:29, not 6:31, thank you ma'am), and the fun begins.

    Right after writing the previous post, Bill called me outside. "Come, come...quick," he whispered. There must be some interesting wild life just outside the door. What could it be? I followed him out the front door where there was a loud buzzing and immediately saw the swarm of bees congregating in the knot of the old maple tree just South of our porch. Who-a. My just-acquired bee knowledge (for those of you who don't know, I've apprenticed myself to a local beekeeper) told me the majority had already alighted in the knot and were checking it to see if it would make a good home. There at the bottom of that mass of bodies, a well-equipped beekeeper would find the queen. Still, there was a great, loud cloud of bees heralding their arrival and the sight was terrific. We tried to take a picture but we weren't close enough to do it real justice.

The interesting thing about a swarm of bees is that they pose no real danger to people or any other beings (unless they've picked your house walls as their resting place, in which case you'll unfortunately have to poison them). They're young bees, maybe they've only been out of the hive a couple of times. Before they leave, they gorge themselves on honey, nectar, pollen, which gives them plenty of reserves for the task of setting up a new colony, but it also makes them drowsy and docile. You wouldn't think so looking at that great mass of activity, but I suppose it's relative. Also, they're extremely vulnerable. They've left with the old queen, and the original colony has a healthy, well-laying new queen already hatched or on the way. This means the old queen may not be laying as well as she once did and it may be difficult for her to repopulate this separatist colony.

I am a little worried for these bees. We had a colony living in the same knot last year and they didn't survive the winter. Perhaps it was Colony Collapse Disorder, but I think it's more likely that the winter was too long and they either froze or starved. Probably starved. I hope this colony makes it through this winter. We'd be glad to have a steady hive around for reliable pollenation. Plus, it just makes me feel good to see so many live bees at once, when so many are in peril.

I'm curious, too, where did they come from? A swarm seldom travels far from their home colony. Where is their origin? Do we have another, more successful hive on the property, one that can last the winter? Oh, this makes me happy.

    Maybe at least a month and a half ago, Bill finally made dandelion wine from the dandelions we(mostly Allison) tirelessly picked around the property. He mixed them with raisins and sugar and now they're adding a lovely fermenting scent to the cold room. But it isn't a particularly pretty sight, sort of muddy and lumpy and grayed-out yellow. But don't let that turn you off from giving it a whirl when you come visit. When it's done, it should be a tasty, light white wine. Fingers crossed!

    Yesterday I planted the rest of the garden, about three weeks later than I should have. It took me all day to hoe the weeds that had grown up in the empty sections of our tilled plot. Oy, I feel like I've dug weeds out of the same spot about five times. Today my soft city slicker hands sport one blister (despite my garden gloves) and very sore wrists. From here on out, the tasks are weeding, harvesting and preserving. Or I could, for simplicity's sake lump harvesting and preserving into one creepy word, one of my favorite words, reaping. Reap. Now that's spare. Precise and overarching. It makes me think of the sleek modernity of a black and white room. All of which has nothing to do with the wild abundance that will be our garden in August. Still, fall's decay is only just around the corner. And it is my favorite season. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I planted a shit ton of turnips. Oops. I planted everything else and ended up with more space than I had anticipated. In keeping with the dark turn of the previous paragraph, I'm hoping for some Tess of the D'Urbervilles moment later this year. A dirt-streaked full peasant skirt with at least six inches of mud caked around the hem, ruined dress shoes (since my good work boots were stolen by Mercy to give to the poor--that bitch, I AM the poor), and a ravishing beauty hiding behind the gray wet earth--bent over, digging turnips. It's hard work, and may render me blameless for finally giving in to the man who ruined my virtue and my life.

p.s. For those of you who haven't read Tess of the D'Urbervilles, I highly recommend it. For those of you who haven't seen Roman Polanski's "Tess," I highly recommend it too. So, so unrelentingly depressing. The poor girl can't get a break. It sounds like I'm making light of it, which I am, but don't let that fool you. This is one of two books that ever made me cry...uncontrollably...in Biology class...in 7th grade. Now how did I explain that to Mrs. Havlik? (Yes, that was her real name.)

    Last Saturday Bill and I attended a beginner's meditation session at the Myoshinji, not five miles from our compound.

It was a great surprise to find that there was a zen center so close--easily within biking distance. It made me feel better about Bill settling in what turns out to be a not-so-avowed-backwater (and I say that, full of adoration for this wonderful, yet still backwater-ish place).

And in case you were just dying to know, here are the top 10 things my mind thought in order to distract me from a truly calm meditation:

1. I'm totally rocking this counting thing.

2. I bet I'm doing better than anyone else in the room.

3. I may be some kind of meditating prodigy.

4. This berber carpet is completely distracting.

5. All those wavy lines.

6. Wait, is that a face...in the carpet?

7. It's totally a face.

8. A child's face?

9. With horns?

10. Is this a sign?

    In four short work days. Four very short days. The carpenters framed in the entire garage apartment and the plumber roughed in the sinks, tub and laundry. Hallelujah!

It may look like a bunch of boards, but it is on its way to being TOTALLY inhabited by us. Hallelujah (praise...)! I'm trying to hold on to this happy, happy feeling for as long as possible, long enough to last me through the electrician not showing up for months. Not that that's a certainty. He's scheduled to come tomorrow. I trust nothing and no-one... Trespasses, etc.

Speaking of, if we ever get a "comment" field going, what do friends out there think of "Hallelujah: A Traditional Cider Revival" as a name for a type of cider? Not sure what type yet.

    Now that we have picture capability, I can finally post the proof, THE PROOF, that after months (since last November) of wrangling, we finally received our zoning permit in early May. And now, after four days of concerted contractor effort, we have a framed in apartment and roughed-in plumbing. Details to come in a later post.

Now, I can't help but whine a bit here. I believe in the idea of zoning. I do. It's a tremendously good thing to have well-managed planning and a democratically/sensibly backed vision for the development of your area. But what we experience was anything but rational—it was the mad runaway power of one petty bureaucrat. It made me want to grab my gun and head for the hills. Seriously, we were told everything under the sun as to why we couldn't finish off the interior of an existing building (with existing septic built specifically to accommodate two dwellings), none of it actually backed up by regulation. For full details apply to my mother, who may be able to relate it with the added bonus of the words "Fuck Face" peppering her narration. Okay enough. The prerequisites imposed on us to receive the permit are nearly out of the way and violence was avoided—barely.

    So, again, Django wins. I managed to add these nice floating pics to the blog without more than 30 minutes of work. Thanks, Django.

My mother harvested our first monster crop of tender, crunchy, beautiful lettuce over the weekend. I've been eating my weight in salad just to forestall the pain of watching so much beauty rot.

And later today we plant the rest of the garden, including our beautiful seedlings—tomatoes, peppers, hot peppers, eggplant, sorrel, lemon balm, sage, celeriac, love lies bleeding (yes, a truly gorgeous name, perhaps meant for Bill's firstborn...Love Lies Bleeding Bevis, LLBB) and way more delicious things.

But my real purpose for posting is to express to the ether my overwhelming gratitude to my horribly neglected potatoes. Every last one came up after sitting in sprouty limbo for months until the ground was warm/dry enough to plant them. I love you, and promise to weed you soon.