Sunday

We live on a fairly quiet rural road. Though close to Madison, we aren't a through-way to any particular spot and so the traffic -- what there is of it -- is of the go to work, go home type.

Except Sundays.

The road deadends at Lake Waubesa and during the summer, we get the weekend boats -- going to, coming back. All day long.






I can't complain. People like their boats and their lakes and it's hard to feel grumpy at this confluence of pleasures: a day off, superb weather, a waterfront that beckons.

However, today has an added twist -- our neighbor (we really have only one visible neighbor -- to the west of us) is celebrating. Maybe a birthday. There is a sign out front: honk for Dave! And so they do. All those happy people with their boats, sharing the joy: beep! And again. Beep beep. And again.





Country living has its interesting permutations.


On the upside, there is the porch breakfast.






Those strawberries in the bowl? -- Not from the garden. It's not that we do no have any strawberries in our patch this year, it's just that the crop isn't very large. Today, for example, we shared a strawberry. (Here, you take half!)





And speaking of fruit patches, today I finally careened with the tractor-mower over the worst parts of the extended raspberry bed. The machine went right through, jamming only twice. Right now, things look worse than they did before. The jungle of berry canes and weeds has turned into a jungle with weird bald spots. But, there will always be a period of nothing before there is a rebirth of something and so I am somewhat satisfied with having this bit of farmette work behind me.

Work: yes, the rest of the day was about work. School work. Which, these days, is amidst flowers.






And that's a good thing.