Last Sunday and Monday mornings were so foggy, caution was required on the roadways. The expression “pea soup” may have been mentioned.

It was also so unpleasantly humid that I confess I spent most of the weekend indoors.

I have an apple tree that was here on the property when I moved in back in 1974. It was in desperate need of pruning and was misshapen, caused by its close neighbor, an overpowering pine tree. After the pine was removed, it took years to grow straight again.

My young son Jeremiah did some pruning, with me on the ground bossing him around.

For several years it produced pathetic, gnarled fruits. But finally it is doing its intended job. The apples actually look and taste like apples. The only problem is getting the drops picked up before the bunnies find them.

I sliced a good amount and realized I did not have a lemon to squeeze over them to prevent browning. Luckily I found a bottle of lemonade. It did the trick.

The photo this week is of grandson Christian with his daughter — and my great-granddaughter, imagine that — Athena Flanders. I thought it was fitting, what with the start of the annual bluefish derby, to highlight the importance of starting them young.

With the exception of occasional trout caught by my Dad in mountain streams, I did not grow up eating fish. It wasn’t until moving to the Vineyard and working at the Black Dog in the late ‘70s and ‘80s that I became aware of the search for and love of ocean fish. Jack Livingston was the kitchen manager at the time. He went to the docks and got the newest of the fresh catch off the boats. The fishermen would bring their daily catch to the restaurant’s back door. Jack would scale and debone everything and have it table-ready for that night’s dinner crowd.

It’s wonderful to live in a place with so many natural resources. I have no doubt we could sustain ourselves just like they did in years past.

Speaking of sustaining oneself, there is plenty of food left in the gardens. If only our bodies could keep up with our good intentions. I grew some nice but small cantaloupes this year. Usually a ripe one will slip off the vine easily. I can tell as the ripe ones get a bite from some critter. I try to keep up and pick them up immediately. So far every one I’ve eaten has a spot cut out. Sigh.

The big blooming patch in the backyard is the invasive Japanese knotweed also known as false bamboo. It is actually quite pretty right now. Supposedly our English ancestors found it in parts of Asia and brought it home.

It is so invasive that almost all methods to eradicate it fail. I see areas where folks have poisoned but it’s back the following year.

I mow it, put black plastic on it, dig it, douse it with straight white vinegar, run chickens and pigs over it and am convinced it would grow through cement. Again: sigh!

Sighing might be the word of the week, month, year, decade.

The devastating earthquake in Morocco shows, once again, how fragile our existence here on earth has become.

We are following the weather forecasters about the path of Hurricane Lee but at least we are forewarned. I can’t imagine my house falling in on me with no idea what’s happening.

Our entire political system and media universe is obsessed with the next election. We are tracking the polls, interviewing crazy people and musing about the age of Joe Biden. Funny how his most likely opponent’s age is never mentioned. I guess that’s because crazy trumps age.

I’m fearful that the constant media harping on Biden’s age will influence public perception just like Hillary’s emails in 2016. We all know how that turned out. There’s no denying it. Joe Biden is old. Hopefully everyone will live to get there, too!