standing up again

When the cold wet weeks and back soreness issues all strike in one set of days, you can count them off as your penance for glorious other weeks. No matter. On balance, in my mind anyway, the glorious always seem to dominate. Or maybe they never quite go away?

Still, it is true that we are recovering from the gloomier side of spring. The rains are finally retreating. The skies are gray, but the greenery around us is now so resplendent that I cannot remember anymore days when the world was colorless and closed up for the season.


But the wake up  remains a bit hard. The back stiffens overnight, the gray skies hide any thought of a sunrise. I stumble outdoors and make my way to the coop. The hens are at the door, ready to spring forward. Their energy level is not my energy level now. They quickly move forward, as if used to the wet wake-up. I clean, I straighten, I set up the coop for the day ahead.

(The flowers. Let me not forget to mention the flowers. I notice them first thing now as I step outside. As for the chick pack --  I throw them some teats. It's easy to get them hyper excited by food.)












And then I go right back to bed. It's not good to recline for too long if you're trying to strengthen your back, but I am enough of a fair weather chick that I don't rush to be out when the day is this drizzly and uninviting.

So breakfast is late. Pancakes for Ed. (Note the big geranium that I wintered over inside: it's waiting for better temperatures to rejoin its buddies outdoors.)






And now we move to our circle of activities.

Weeding, writing, fence building, chicken chasing... (why, why are they in the front yard?? we never use the front yard! there are cars near the front yard! get back to any other portion of the farmette you silly fools, stay out of the front yard!)











...more weeding, picnic table repairing -- all gentle stuff, putting us in good stead (I hope) for next month's vigorous planting push (all those tomatoes!). (I do wish Oreo would choose not to munch from the pots.)






In the afternoon, I have an errand to run -- another babysitting stint for Goldie, my daughter's cat. Unlike Isis, she can still be enticed to play with a toy.






Too, she likes to follow along as I explain to her New Yorker cartoons.






But I can't stay terribly long. Farnette weeding beckons. (I have perhaps a million little willows and boxelders starting from dropped seeds of the big guys and, too, I am forever pushing back the wild violet which would take over every living space in my garden if I let it run...wild.) Ed returns to his repair work and honestly, this is what I would call a beautiful day, in a quiet sort of way.

With a quiet supper of beet soup and spicy shrimp.






And a quiet good night.