Well, Oreo and I are in fight mode again. I come outside, the whole brood of cheepers charges, only with differing intentions. The girls want bread. The rooster wants bread, too, but he would like it to drop out of the heavens rather than from my hand. He doesn't trust me, I don't trust him. Sometimes I fire off a stream of water from my water pistol, as a warning, so that he wont charge at me. He no longer is afraid of it, but it does keep him a comfortable few feet away. But I have to have that pistol poised and ready. Or else? Well, it's hard to predict. And in his unpredictability lies the problem. I always have to be prepared.
I know, I know, I've been down this path before, but each time, the path grows shorter and the conclusion more obvious: the rooster should not free range in a yard where I also tend to free range, or at least freely roam. Ed says I must have been mean to a rooster in my previous life. I tell him I distinctly remember always being kind to chickens and roosters!
We eat breakfast on the porch -- this should be a given by now, the very last days of May, except that tomorrow promises to be cold and wet so I am grateful for this lovely morning of dry and warm.
From the porch, the view onto one of the flower fields is stunning. Here, let me get a bit closer to it:
We linger, but it's Friday, so it isn't as leisurely as I would like. We both have pressing chores to do. Though there's always enough time for a photos of a perennial of the moment! Dianthus. Cottage pinks, though in this case, not very pink!
My visit with Snowdrop today is not ordinary. First of all, because of today's tasks, I go to her later in the afternoon, when she is out walking with her mom. I catch up to them halfway round the lake.
And we play only briefly at her home.
The plan is for me to bring her to the farmhouse and later, much later in the evening, the parents will pick her up from there.
It's a good plan, but just as I settle in to feed her, Ed comes home and she is straining and straining to see him and this (or whatever other baby foible) just doesn't settle well with her tummy and before you know it, we have a number of puddles and messes around us.
Ed cleans up, I give the little one a spontaneous bath and we start again.
And now we pick up a smoother pace and she plays...
... and laughs as if nothing had happened.
Now, you may be tempted to tell me that Snowdrop is changing outfits at the rate of a speed demon. Several things contribute to this: we changed seasons. Then, as if to laugh at our attempts to keep up with her, she changes sizes. She is a tall girl and she no longer conforms to the standard fit. Tonight, of course, the change of clothing was out of baby necessity!
At dusk, the cheepers have retreated to the coop area. Whatever threat of storms there was, has long moved on and the air is warm and deliciously summer-like. I pick up the little one and along with Ed, we visit the veggie bed. All's well there, which is a relief because I came across these visitors in our strawberry patch when I came home with Snowdrop in the afternoon:
Snowdrop really seems to love the few minutes of standing (supported) in the grass now, in the fading light and I'm sure she, too, is impressed with the progress of the peas and tomatoes.
Back at the farmhouse, she dozes off before her parents come. It's not completely dark and yet I still believe she picks up the rhythm of the farmette perfectly: this is the time when we slow down, take in a few deep, sweet breaths, then retire.
I know, I know, I've been down this path before, but each time, the path grows shorter and the conclusion more obvious: the rooster should not free range in a yard where I also tend to free range, or at least freely roam. Ed says I must have been mean to a rooster in my previous life. I tell him I distinctly remember always being kind to chickens and roosters!
We eat breakfast on the porch -- this should be a given by now, the very last days of May, except that tomorrow promises to be cold and wet so I am grateful for this lovely morning of dry and warm.
From the porch, the view onto one of the flower fields is stunning. Here, let me get a bit closer to it:
We linger, but it's Friday, so it isn't as leisurely as I would like. We both have pressing chores to do. Though there's always enough time for a photos of a perennial of the moment! Dianthus. Cottage pinks, though in this case, not very pink!
My visit with Snowdrop today is not ordinary. First of all, because of today's tasks, I go to her later in the afternoon, when she is out walking with her mom. I catch up to them halfway round the lake.
And we play only briefly at her home.
The plan is for me to bring her to the farmhouse and later, much later in the evening, the parents will pick her up from there.
It's a good plan, but just as I settle in to feed her, Ed comes home and she is straining and straining to see him and this (or whatever other baby foible) just doesn't settle well with her tummy and before you know it, we have a number of puddles and messes around us.
Ed cleans up, I give the little one a spontaneous bath and we start again.
And now we pick up a smoother pace and she plays...
... and laughs as if nothing had happened.
Now, you may be tempted to tell me that Snowdrop is changing outfits at the rate of a speed demon. Several things contribute to this: we changed seasons. Then, as if to laugh at our attempts to keep up with her, she changes sizes. She is a tall girl and she no longer conforms to the standard fit. Tonight, of course, the change of clothing was out of baby necessity!
At dusk, the cheepers have retreated to the coop area. Whatever threat of storms there was, has long moved on and the air is warm and deliciously summer-like. I pick up the little one and along with Ed, we visit the veggie bed. All's well there, which is a relief because I came across these visitors in our strawberry patch when I came home with Snowdrop in the afternoon:
Snowdrop really seems to love the few minutes of standing (supported) in the grass now, in the fading light and I'm sure she, too, is impressed with the progress of the peas and tomatoes.
Back at the farmhouse, she dozes off before her parents come. It's not completely dark and yet I still believe she picks up the rhythm of the farmette perfectly: this is the time when we slow down, take in a few deep, sweet breaths, then retire.
