change of plans

The stormy, humid weather moved elsewhere and we woke to crisp blue skies. A cool day for sure, so that the porch breakfast is perhaps based more on optimism than our comfort level.






We talk about the day before us: it's unusual, as Snowdrop will be coming to the farmhouse today rather than tomorrow (remember: if it's Tuesday, it must be Snowdrop at the farmhouse day). But that's not until later. In the meantime, wouldn't this be a good morning to put in the watermelon flats and the melon seeds?


First, though, let's see what's blooming in the flower fields today: penstemon (common name: beardtongue)!






Ed makes his way to the young orchard and out of habit, gives the suspended killer willow branch a swing. Perhaps you don't remember: a year ago, several tornadoes passed through this way and one of the more violent storms took down a significant limb from the ancient willow. It's perhaps ten times the size of Ed in length (Ed is 6'4") and not too much smaller than him in girth and it hangs suspended from a perch so high, that even the tree service could not think of a way to bring it down (without deploying equipment not typically used for such purposes). Only time could release that huge thing and bring it to the ground. How much time? Oh, it could be an hour, it could be a decade. So frightening was the prospect of it coming down and crushing the wedding party last June, that we moved everyone from underneath the willow, just in case. Even Ed, whose middle name is not "cautious," insisted on it.

Well now, today, a big swing on his part brought the monster down, enough to rest on the ground at the tip.

Change of plans! -- He shouts as he takes out his power saw, making educated guesses as to which way the monster limb will eventually fall.






I stand by and watch and wonder how long it would take an ambulance to get here, should we need one. But, fortunately, Ed survives and I go on to busy myself moving ferns and fighting off the rooster.












At noon, Snowdrop arrives. We play a little inside  and she works on her sitting and scooting and story reading...
















But I am itching to be outside (despite the winds and cool temps). I'm thinking this may be a good day to introduce her to dandelions, as Ed has still to finish mowing and so we have plenty of them in all stages of formation. Indeed, in some places, the grass is even taller than Snowdrop, sitting up.






I am especially tickled to sit her down in a field of grass and dandelions and creeping charlie, because obnoxious as all these are to a person who likes manicured lawns (not Ed and not me either, though I prefer things to be less crazily overgrown out there), it's a safe place to place a baby. Nothing around Snowdrop is toxic.

And she is thrilled to be down there, studying the green stuff and listening to Oreo crow from a safe place, somewhere in the garage. (The cheepers hide when the wind gusts are strong.)



she can almost sit unassisted




almost -- until she topples and chuckles at the feel of the soft grass..



Later, we go for a stroller walk along the rural roads. Not too long -- the wind is really strong. Still, she does not complain and spends a good chunk of time flapping her foot against the gusts. It's grand to be outside!






Inside again, we play and she gives me that agreeable smile that would melt the heart of any grandmother.






When she leaves, I consider working outside. We've come up with two more planters that I could fill with local annuals. Or, I could pluck at weeds and dig out spreading perennials. All good tasks, but I do none of them. I go inside and take out my computer and address the issue of my Great Writing Project again.