Sunday

By my calculation, the next very normal Sunday doesn't come around until July 19th and even that one is a bit iffy. You may be yawning when you read this post -- nothing happens! same old, same old! -- but for me, the routines fall into place beautifully, forming a pattern of habits that I rather love. (I love disruptions too. I'm conflicted that way.)

I suppose scrubbing the farmhouse -- my Sunday morning special -- can't fall under the heading of "love this!" but I do adore the freshness that comes immediately after. (Ed is less comfortable in the clean house. It usually comes with many directives -- just for today, don't do this, don't do that, put this away, please don't leave that on the floor... etc.)

Breakfast outside -- that needs no introduction or amplification.






And then we work outside. Not of necessity, but because it feels good to labor in tandem, hauling chips to places that need them, trimming, pulling out, cutting down -- the usual stuff that keeps us busy, especially now, before we have any signs of mosquitoes. (Last year, they started to show up in the second week of June and by mid month, we used our paddle zappers every time we went outside.)

It is warm and breezy. Storms were to rumble through but they seem to have passed us by. The sun pokes through now and then -- it really is the perfect day to be outside.













In the evening, the young family comes for dinner.






Snowdrop is her most wonderful self...






... and we spend a blissful time eating on the porch.






Later, much later, the doorbell rings. That's curious. No one ever comes this way unannounced. I send Ed to answer it and he comes back with a big container of perfectly amazing strawberries. Just like my grandma's!


 


They're from one of the Hmong farmers with whom we share this glorious landscape. A gift. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yes, the day shines. Inside and out.