If you read yesterday's post, you may as well take that text, click the "opposite" button and you'll have my Sunday before you.
Yes, the weather is the culprit again and yet I cannot just point a finger at the skies. It's like blaming forever a bad social studies teacher in eighth grade for your not knowing about the Gettysburg Address. At some point you understand that ultimately, you're steering your own ship.
It was a bit nippy this morning, but the sky is blue, the sun is radiant and so, of course, we eat breakfast on the porch. In jackets, to be sure, but enjoying every moment of it.
After, I complain loudly and repeatedly how hard it is to do major outdoor work with an eye constantly focused on Oreo. Ed thinks the best solution is to lock the rooster in the fenced enclosure that surrounds the coop. The girls can fly out of it, but he cannot. Off off and away!
It is glorious to work without constantly looking over my shoulder! (The hens are, by contrast, totally delightful!)
And work I did. We both did. Major weeding of the raspberries, spot mowing for me and heavy duty mowing for Ed, and, too, a herculean effort to divide and conquer the hostas that had filled in too abundantly in some of my shady flower fields. This is something that is far easier to do when the plants are small, but I hadn't the time then and so I dig them out in their fully extended form and move some dozen or more to the front, under the maples that shade the house along the southern roadside edge of the farmette.
I'm not going to show you photos of hostas. I like them fine, but hostas are hostas and though ours are impressive in size, I have too many of the common variety and too few of the spectacular ones that come in shades of deep green and even blue (and cost a bundle).
You can admire other flowers instead, including the potted annuals...
And, too, the dainty dianthus that cascades down the rock wall.
Or how about the siberian iris? Delicate and proud.
And now we really are in a peony extravaganza -- one after the next is experiencing her best moment.
Our day is exclusively outdoors and the farmette is the better for it.
In the evening -- well that's predictable and wonderful all at the same time: Snowdrop and her parents are here for dinner.
There isn't a better way to end a day.
Yes, the weather is the culprit again and yet I cannot just point a finger at the skies. It's like blaming forever a bad social studies teacher in eighth grade for your not knowing about the Gettysburg Address. At some point you understand that ultimately, you're steering your own ship.
It was a bit nippy this morning, but the sky is blue, the sun is radiant and so, of course, we eat breakfast on the porch. In jackets, to be sure, but enjoying every moment of it.
After, I complain loudly and repeatedly how hard it is to do major outdoor work with an eye constantly focused on Oreo. Ed thinks the best solution is to lock the rooster in the fenced enclosure that surrounds the coop. The girls can fly out of it, but he cannot. Off off and away!
It is glorious to work without constantly looking over my shoulder! (The hens are, by contrast, totally delightful!)
And work I did. We both did. Major weeding of the raspberries, spot mowing for me and heavy duty mowing for Ed, and, too, a herculean effort to divide and conquer the hostas that had filled in too abundantly in some of my shady flower fields. This is something that is far easier to do when the plants are small, but I hadn't the time then and so I dig them out in their fully extended form and move some dozen or more to the front, under the maples that shade the house along the southern roadside edge of the farmette.
I'm not going to show you photos of hostas. I like them fine, but hostas are hostas and though ours are impressive in size, I have too many of the common variety and too few of the spectacular ones that come in shades of deep green and even blue (and cost a bundle).
You can admire other flowers instead, including the potted annuals...
And, too, the dainty dianthus that cascades down the rock wall.
Or how about the siberian iris? Delicate and proud.
And now we really are in a peony extravaganza -- one after the next is experiencing her best moment.
Our day is exclusively outdoors and the farmette is the better for it.
In the evening -- well that's predictable and wonderful all at the same time: Snowdrop and her parents are here for dinner.
There isn't a better way to end a day.
