scooting forward

We work in the rain. I had started a list of farmette outdoor must-dos and the list grew and grew and so we could not turn our back on the yard merely because of the showers that came down off and on, all day long. If yesterday was sunny and very warm, today is just the opposite. (Though you could argue no less beautiful.)






Immediately after breakfast...





...we head for the new orchard.

I think to myself -- it's the kind of day where a dram of scotch whisky would fit in nicely. (I had watched a report yesterday on 60 Minutes about the Isle of Islay.  I had to smile when I recalled that I bought back several bottles of the finest of Islay scotches last June, thinking they'd fit in nicely into a cold winter evening. In fact, I had a sip only on two occasions this entire year and they felt strangely out of context -- as if I need just the right Islay atmosphere to appreciate this powerfully warming drink.)

Finally, by noon, the rain has soaked through my jacket and I feel cold enough to call it quits. We had pulled up weeds around six of the seventeen new fruit trees and we are spent. In the evening we'll have cleared three more. It will not warrant a cross out of a full line on my must-do list, but nonetheless, I'm happy with our progress.


In other news, my acrobatic granddaughter spends the afternoon at the farmhouse. Here she is, practicing her siting skills.






But do you think she'd roll for me today? No! She's onto bigger and better things! When I place her on her tummy, I can almost sense her grinning at me with impish pleasure!  No rolling around today, grandma, I'm interested in moving forward!








And scoot she does. After her toy, off the quilt, hunching, squirming, heaving forward!






Let it not be said that this four month old (she is that today!) chooses to be still and wait for the magic to happen!






I look at the time: it's her lunch hour. On goes the bandana bib.








Soon, grandma? I'm hungry!




Maybe I should eat rabbit...




Bad idea...




Where's the good stuff, grandma?!


In the evening, when Snowdrop leaves, we are at it again outside, until I throw in the spade and retire home to cook supper. I've cut a few sprigs of white lilac to bring inside.






As I place it in a jar on the kitchen table, I glance out the window. Ed is spending a few minutes with Oreo. The other hens, shy as anything, move in closer nonetheless. The chicken whisperer, I think to myself. Give him a cheeper and he'll quietly make friends.






A few minutes later, he walks down to get the coop ready for the brood. It's still wet outside, still gray, but just a touch warmer now.