Kinship of cheese

The smell of melting cheese chases the wind through the cracks in the wagon door, big gusts are predicted here on the Salish island. In case we lose power, we get things done before hand. We have had breakfast (oatmeal and nettles thick with slices of ripe bananas, a dollop of sunflower seed butter and a stream of maple syrup). Yummy! Fueled, Pete took over the stove and began heating water for dishes. It's a many step intensive routine -- dish washing, and a dance within a small space that is testament to a man who can move.

The cheese is the thing. Sent to him from his older sister, Margaret, Pete's kinship with Wisconsin dairies is long bred; the man does love the pungent cheese. To hear him talk of his experiences with cheese -- Farmer's cheese, a soft and mild, breakfast; Limburger kept on the back porch; the extra-powerful forearms of his neighbors who worked the cheese and were sought after for your bowling team-- is to know some of what makes him.

A single rectangle of pizza remains. I peeked to see where things stood outside the tiny wagon room's door when there was no banging or slamming or stomping of feet.

Mostly this is a post for Margaret who has promised the arrival of an early Valentine's package. Earlier we received a cheese story that was as tasty to me as melting cheese (if only I could eat the creamy, salty soured milk). Instead, I savor the sensation through these words, enjoy the delight in Pete's face as he grates, talks, and then eats his way through the kinship of cheese.

Thank you, Margaret.