I don’t think I’ve ever looked at these late-summer fern spikes. I don’t know what they’re called, and don’t really need to know. I usually only look at them when they are dark brown and dry, in the autumn.
We crossed an international border, high above the St Marys River…and later visited at this charming, foreign rest area.
We got stopped to wait our turn to use a one-lane section of a construction zone and I could see this farm. We called these folks and their neighbors buggy people, because that’s their mode of transport. I don’t know if they’re Amish or something else. Each farm made it clear that they don’t sell eggs on Sunday. One farm had cut their wheat and made hand-tied sheaves neatly distributed in rows across the field. Non-buggy farmers used combine harvesters, which dump the wheat in trucks, skipping the sheaves step entirely.