The weather is still good back home, and father says to tell you that his sunflowers are close to a prizewinning height this year. You know how obsessed he is about them. He's convinced that he can beat the Claubergs in the summer fair this time around. He's even been leaning over Hermann Clauberg's garden fence in the night with a tape measure, trying to see how theirs are getting on. Your father swears that he has two centimeters on them, but I don't know. I think Hermann's are off to a much better start than his are, though of course I would never say that to your father!
Life goes on as normal in our little village, as you can probably tell. I am so glad we don't live in the city. Things sound terrible there.
Mother (and Father)