Today I also went grocery shopping -- a terribly time consuming event, but one that had to be done or else we'd be eating very left over leftovers this week. And, in the yard, we rebuilt the tee-pee for string beans. The wind knocked down our last year's effort and seeing it flattened on the ground was a constant reminder of our failure to secure it, so it was good to see it up and standing firmly (I hope) again. And finally, today, we finished planting tomatoes, melon and watermelon. You should understand that any work in the veggie patch requires digging up that noxious and obnoxious bindweed that has really take hold there. We did a lot of digging.
Those were the tougher hours. Now that I've given them their Ocean moment, I can return to the sweet and gentle: for example, a quick post-rain glance at what's blooming, or almost blooming right now at the farmette:
(Combinations are starting to be especially eye catching)
Breakfast is on the porch, at a time when it was still raining a bit, so that we feel especially sheltered, yet very connected to all that's outside. (The French lilac is the last of the lilacs to bloom here. I'm always a tad nostalgic for the passing of spring as I clip it for a table jar.)
And dinner is on the porch too! We switched our weekly family meal to this day, and we are given a warm and pleasant evening for it. I try hard to pay attention to the food (mustard shallot salmon, Marjoram swiss chard, corn, salad) and the rest of the family (my daughter, her husband), even as my gaze keeps coming back to Snowdrop!
Because there is no door to the porch yet, I have to move swiftly, in and out, bringing in foods as they become ready. And I pass a few items through the window. As I look out to catch a pair of hands, I notice a new arrangement outside: Snowdrop is out of her seat and onto bigger and better things!
With the meal on the table, we settle in to eat. Snowdrop's parents, knowing that a baby's quiet spell may not last, dig in. And Ed? Well, his eyes seem to be focused elsewhere -- to the little girl in her little chair...
I sit down and smile at her and get that prize of all prizes -- her lovely love filled gaze.
She insists then on being up where the action is and I'm happy to oblige.
And that pleases her, but very quickly, she wants to show me that these days, she's beyond "just" sitting.
Oh little girl, are you really that same infant who could not focus her gaze just two, three months ago? Is it possible that you're stomping around on my lap now?
The porch is always a quiet place, but in the evening, it is especially muted and restrained. I don't know a person who is in a hurry to leave then. It's as if you know that as long as you're gently swaying in one of the chairs out there, you'll be safe, protected. And so we linger... until it grows late.
It's a good way to bring the Memorial Day weekend to a close.