A fair, hot day, sultry, with a morning fog. I was up in the first light, and after fishing and milking, went up the hill (to McCord’s) for blackberries. Picked 12 quarts and was back in time to do some hoeing before dinner, also after dinner. Nice berries and good picking. In a retired spot where no one ever goes, I am at ease, a feeling I do not enjoy when out in the open, picking where the Gorman children might be. Some of the briars grow among small locust trees, and I pick over my head sometimes. Late in the afternoon I begin to reckon up the day, I give up much further accomplishment and figure what must be done before nightfall – the goats, fishing, bath, supper, and often occasional chores…Time to play a little after supper, before fishing. Bath, or swim and bath together, had come first then goats, then supper. The peewee still pipes. We may read a little before bed. Faint cheeps of katydid across the creek in the deep foliage where they are last heard in the fall. I suppose a life is like that – at last you cease to think of what you might still do, and wind up the chores before nightfall. Blessed is that man whose last days are serene and quiet. I have an idea that I will be busy until the last minute, as on some days, yet last night we sat in the evening listening to night sounds, watching the fireflies; then to bed.
—Harlan Hubbard, from Payne Hollow Journal, July 27, 1961