explosion

There's no other word for it -- in the three days I was a way, the garden exploded. We are a good three weeks ahead of last year in our yard! The crab apple is starting to have flower buds, as is the cherry in our young orchard! And the daffodils! Shut tight (with the rare exception) when I left, now showing off their utter splendidness.






A warm spell held tight over the farmette in my absence and I have to think that even when we cool down next week, we can't go down very far -- it is, after all, getting very close to May!






Ed and I eat a glorious breakfast on the porch.





And of course, where there's an explosion of growth, so, too, there will be weeds, but our wood chips keep them under control and digging them out is -- dare I say it? -- a pleasure.

Oreo is on high alert, but Ed purchased a water gun and it is very effective! When the rooster comes near me, he gets doused. He hates that! (And I hate doing it, but it's a good temporary solution until his true owner comes to take him to another home where it's all chickens and roosters. May he prosper.)

And so I dig and carry more chips...





... and the day passes beautifully, peacefully, capped by Snowdrop's arrival at the farmhouse, where she spends the evening with me. She had been traveling as well in the time that I was away and she is just freshly back in Madison.

She wakes up to us here in the farmhouse and at first she is puzzled. Do I know you? Wait, how does this all fit in to where I was just this morning?






Something sparks recognition. In the alternative, my face is just plain funny. For a few minutes we laugh back and forth.





But then she reminds me that for her, travel is still hard and the farmhouse, while familiar, is not home.

It takes a lot of holding and serious conversation (Snowdrop, you know that you're safe here and mommy and daddy will pick you up soon!) before she finally decides to rest her soul and body somewhere between my lap and shoulder.  At the peak of her tired distress, I take her out for a breath of fresh air. In Poland, the belief is that fresh air can do wonders for the soul.

She relaxes. And promptly falls asleep. Then wakes up. Then smiles. Then cries. Then dozes. Then eats -- and we cycle through this many times until finally, just before her parents come to pick her up, a light bulb seems to go off (as in -- oh, I know where I am!) and she proceeds to kick her feet and articulate cool sounds that do awfully sound like words.

It's nearly midnight now. Snowdrop has gone home. There is a light patter of rain on the rooftop. Nourishing rain, good rain. Wish I could send some over to California.