Dearest,
The Farmer's Faire this year was a delight. My family and I traveled to the Festival Grounds outside of Bree and I danced with my sisters and ate at least ten different flavors of pie and we bought crates of produce to bring home to prepare for the end of fall and beginning of winter. Mother also prepared a few pastries in which she had me and Clementine bring to Grannie and Pop. Pop's pain in his hands is getting worse as the season turns colder and mother says he's finding it harder to do things around the house.
We turned the rest of the berries and fruits into jarred jams and spreads while Oleander helped father with the salted meat. More than once mother scolded me for being distracted, as my thoughts kept returning to the Market Day only that morning, when we had set up shop in our stall in the Bree-town market to sell some of this year's harvest. I had given away a marigold and had thought of nothing else since. Tomorrow I am going to show her around all of my favorite spots in Bree, and my stomach erupts in butterflies whenever I begin thinking about it.
Eventually mother sent me from the kitchen for I had scalded the strawberries. Even though I have left home to live in my small cottage, I feel as if I am back at the farm so often it's as if I never truly left. Mother eventually sent me on my way, arms packed with jars of fermented vegetables and jarred fruits. Once I was home and put everything away, my thoughts kept returning to Ceonbura and the marigold.
love,
Honeymist
