a morning coffee


On the south coast we start picking coffee in December. I say "we" but I have yet to drop a bean in a bucket this year. Part timer. Drink it? Why yes please. 


Ivy has done more picking than I have. Mostly because she's following Grandpa around. Like, all day. And if she's not hanging onto Grandpa's leg or running after him, she is trying to get across the yards to his tractor. 



No I'm sure she's not in the way at all. 


She did actually get right to the top of this ladder, wee bandit. But by then I had tossed the camera and grabbed her by the ankles. Unneccessarily. She's a completely competent and stable climber. And I am eighty years old.

Coffee. That sounds fab. I'll make us a flat white. 


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