stuck in a song

It is not a day of new tasks or novel ideas or pursuits. I am, in fact, stuck in a pattern that may well continue for the next ten grand weather days (if they continue to be grand weather days). It's like a song that I have in my head -- hum one bar and you'll recognize the rest of the tune because you've heard it so often before. But it's no less pretty, just because it's familiar.

Here we go -- my lovely May song.

The old pear, in the early morning light:






I have another dig and divide project. I pick up the shovel right after letting the cheepers out. Scotch follows, watches, and gets the worms. She's very good at it. So is Butter. The new girls are still learning.






The crab is at its finest, I think. Opening buds. A canvas of color.






Still early. Buckets of composted soil, spades, flower pots, cart for toting chips.






What else is blooming?






Even the plants that aren't yet close to their flowering stage are looking grand in the dewy morning light.






To the north of us, the truck farmers are working long hours.






This is when the hens take turn laying. Henny's done. Out for a stroll now.






Breakfast on the porch. We're both eating, while the cheepers do their morning cleaning routines just at the other side of the screen.






Ed had promised to come with me for a quick trip to the Flower Factory to pick up a few plants that are not day lilies (for the ever expanding front bed). Their displays always look lovely along the colorful fences by the greenhouses.






Going there and coming back, we avoid the highway and stick to our favorite country roads. There are rewards to taking a longer route!






We pass a small greenhouse called Natalie's. Only annuals. We don't need annuals, but I tell Ed we should at least pick up one tiny flat of something to support this small grower.
You never plant marigolds... he mutters.
Alright. Let's get some for you. I'll put them in by the path to the sheep shed.






In the afternoon and early evening, I am with Snowdrop. I bring her to the farmhouse, thinking I can get some planting done during her nap. Well, that doesn't happen. Phone calls to return, emails to write. Still, it's terrific to have her here.






What's that buzzing by?
One of the many lovely bugs that share the gardens with us...






If ever there was a bucolic canvas...






She continues her conversation with the cheepers. They listen attentively.






Lunch, nap, wake up. Oh, how beautiful are her smiles after a solid rest!






Toward evening, I tell her we'll be making pizza again. It's such a good dish to make with a child!

She's giving directions.






She's not sure I got everything right...






I tell her she can go chill while the pizza bakes. She happily loses herself in her books at her table.






And then it's dinnertime and she is a most rewarding guest...






And poof! -- the day is done.

See? Not much was different. A rerun of the most beautiful melodies. Nothing more, nothing less.