May, 30, 1944

My dearest Hal,

I thought I was too tired tonight to do anything except crawl into bed, but after a nice warm bath I feel so much better. I guess I’ll try to write a letter after all. I wonder if you even bother to read my letters since they turn out to be simply a garden diary, or some thing else equally uninteresting. Maybe you have stopped reading them by this time. It seems that most of the girls I know who write every night just tell exactly what happens to them during the day. So far so good, but now comes the trouble, because so little ever happens to me and it certainly isn’t worth reading, as you will agree by the end of this letter.

About two weeks ago I planted butter beans and almost none of them came up. We had a perfectly horrible time getting them to come up. I had a bright idea last year of planting snap beans in some hills with the butter beans, because snaps come up so easily and that would break the ground and help the poor old lazy butter beans through the ground. The snap beans were then to be pulled up and the butter beans left to grow. It worked wonderfully except that you couldn’t tell which was which, and we never did get the snaps pulled out. They choked out the butter beans and the drought finished them both, quite a mess that turned out to be. This year we are still searching for an ideal way to plant butter beans. I have planted ten rows and have six more to plant and four to replant so I guess tomorrows work is cut out.

I simply must find some strawberries to put in the locker. We have a patch started but not enough of them this year for freezing.

I wish you could see the roses. I have several lovely red ones. I know how much you love them, so I can imagine what a lovely rose garden we shall have one of these days.

Sam wanted me to read to him, and I’m afraid he will never get to sleep if I don’t do it.

I am very nearly asleep myself so I guess I had better wish you pleasant dreams my darling and say good night for this time.

All my love,

Paige