Before heading back to the farm we detoured to Boston and attended the Red Sox win over Toronto with Andy and Bill. In case your not a Sad Rox fan, they went from being worse than the worst team in baseball (is that possible?) to being better than the best (equally impossible). They were so bad, I almost stopped listening. (Well, not really.)

What does baseball—or Fenway Park for that matter—have anything to do with farming? First off, the only place in The Universe greener than the orchard up at Finley Lane is Fenway Park. The grass and The Wall are so green, a farmer could even feel right at home.

Secondly, watching baseball is like watching plants grow. You could swear that nothing’s happening. But don’t kid yourself, a lot is. You think there’s no apples on your Blake or Black Oxford or Sidrunkollane Talioun tree. But look again. You just might come back a few days later and—like magic—a whole bunch of apples have appeared. And then a week later and they’re the size of ping pong balls. Before long, you’re up on a ladder picking.

It’s like that with baseball too. You think nothing’s happening. You get bored and start gazing at the advertisement billboards or the Citgo Sign (which has been taken down for some reason) or the people in the next seats who are drinking too much beer and, oops, you just missed a three-run homer. Darn.

Whether you’re at Fenway Park or out in the orchard, pay attention. You just might miss the Goldfinch that flew by. Or the Monarch feeding on the milkweed. Or the Monarda flowers or the first apples on the Radar Love tree or that wall-ball double that just knocked in two runs. Sure, there’s instant reply on the Jumbotron. But nothing beats the real thing.