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Back when the majority of the human race had a working knowledge of agriculture, the concept of a fallow field was a universally understood metaphor.

I feel the need to explain it now, however.

Fields that had been used to grow food in successive seasons were left to rest for a period of time.  Seeing as this was before any physical or chemical understanding of the way in which particular nutrients were used by plants, it was likely the product of experimentation and observation by early human civilizations; crop yields on areas that had been overused would continue to diminish and the field would have to eventually be abandoned.

(I should point out that most of my knowledge on this comes from real-time-strategy games I played in the mid 90s.  I have not nor likely ever will farm.  I would probably starve to death before successfully growing plants for food.)

After something like three years of blogging multiple times per week, I think I just burned out my brain.

It was an indulgent activity anyway.  Especially with two young children that demand significant attention for most of the day.  I still owe a completed thesis for my Masters.  I’m teaching a new grade (again) at a new school (again) where I know no one (again).  And for some absurd reason I’ve started a photography business on the side.

The children have grown (as children do).  Nora is now walking (she just decided today that it should supersede crawling), Abby is in jazz dance (despite being a year younger than the recommended age range), and the two of them are thick as thieves when playing.  Nora will probably resent me later in life for not offering a blow-by-blow of her first year in the way in which I did for Abby.  As a first-born, I feel no real sympathy for her plight.

Birthday girlsThere were no entries in the Ancaster Fall Fair this year.  Time and energy were both low, and I really didn’t see how I could top last year’s crop of ribbons.  The plan for next year is to have Abby enter in the children’s categories, so that even if I bail she will have represented our family there.

The cynical part of me (medically measured at 91-93% by mass) wonders if I can get back into regular posting.  The hopeful part of me (not measurable by current technology) thinks that a period of rest means that the crops will start growing again.