Wherever I have lived (and there have been only five places -- the deep Polish countryside, Warsaw, New York, Chicago and the greater Madison area), I always thought that if you take all senses into account, May has to be the most beautiful month of the year. [Well, except for in Chicago: I don't think I ever noticed the seasons in Chicago. There was winter and then there was non-winter. I think I was pining for green spaces. New York, after all had Central Park. Chicago had a lot of concrete and absolutely no easy escape from the city for a student without a car.]
May's beauty is so obvious, so in your face stunning that you don't even have to explain yourself when you write, say in a post -- my, but today was a beautiful day! We're in May. That says it all.
It was not supposed to be a superb weather day, but in fact, expecting mediocrity, I was pleasantly surprised when the temps climbed into the mid 50sF (low teens C). I shed my sweater and worked.
Oh, sure, there was a late breakfast...
...but no Sunday farmhouse cleaning. Since Ed had been out yesterday evening, I decided to be productive and get house cleaning over and done with then. He returned late to find me vacuuming. I was proud.
I had made great progress with the yard work last weekend, but of course, there were now new day lilies from the ladies in Verona to be planted... (Here, I'm surveying the task ahead and in my field of vision I'm expecting to see a cheeper or two parading through the yard and instead I see a turkey.)
And, too, I'm expecting a sentimental (if not large) order from White Flower Farm in Connecticut -- they were the first company that I knew of that sold perennials in the States back in the late 1980s and every time I start a new bed, I buy a few things from them in grateful appreciation for all that they did to get people interested in creating perennial beds.
And finally, I overheard someone commenting the other day that the most fragrant day lily they had ever encountered was something with the incredibly romantic (in my view) name of Prairie Moonlight and isn't it too bad that you can't buy it anywhere around here... Well now, the Internet can easily solve the hunt down for this and I got a box from Oakes Daylilies in Tennessee with a few Moonlights just this week. (I love greenhouses that include a free surprise with your order -- from Oakes, I got a day lily with the less enchanting name of First Lady Barbara, though Ed reminded me that the person whose name the lily holds is a sweet old lady who probably deserves to have at least a flower named after her.)
In the course of my work, I did look up occasionally -- for instance, when Ed said with surprise -- you know, the cheepers love the fallen petals from the pear tree! (By the way, in answer to a reader question -- yes, the same chicken delivers the same color of egg, so I can tell who may be slacking, given that our four girls have different egg shell pigmentation.)
And since I did some spot improvements around the path to the farmhouse, I paused to take a picture there, not because it was the most beautiful moment (there were many others equally beautiful), but because I typically hang my camera on the curly willow branch when I am outside, which puts me exactly in this pot when I retrieve it.
Oh, and let me include a photo of the bulb flowers -- the survivor tulips and the ever awesome daffodils, because they still are incredibly gorgeous and abundant.
In the evening, Snowdrop comes with her mom (dad's working) for supper.
I am thrilled to see them walking up the path, but all the commotion alerts the cheepers of her presence and they rush over to greet her (they do associate her with the good things in life -- eg stale bread) and she rushes to greet them and of course, neither can give what the other wants (they want bread, she wants to snuggle with them), but there is joy in that greeting anyway. They know she will at some point bring bread and she knows that in their feathered hearts she retains a special place.
(Speaking of a special place in the heart of another...)
Yes, the girl is all smiles tonight.
She eats with enthusiasm: pasta with lemon shrimp? Yum! Cooked carrots? Yes!
Final minutes of play...
... and then I drive these two home.
First day of May. How quickly it zipped by!
May's beauty is so obvious, so in your face stunning that you don't even have to explain yourself when you write, say in a post -- my, but today was a beautiful day! We're in May. That says it all.
It was not supposed to be a superb weather day, but in fact, expecting mediocrity, I was pleasantly surprised when the temps climbed into the mid 50sF (low teens C). I shed my sweater and worked.
Oh, sure, there was a late breakfast...
...but no Sunday farmhouse cleaning. Since Ed had been out yesterday evening, I decided to be productive and get house cleaning over and done with then. He returned late to find me vacuuming. I was proud.
I had made great progress with the yard work last weekend, but of course, there were now new day lilies from the ladies in Verona to be planted... (Here, I'm surveying the task ahead and in my field of vision I'm expecting to see a cheeper or two parading through the yard and instead I see a turkey.)
And, too, I'm expecting a sentimental (if not large) order from White Flower Farm in Connecticut -- they were the first company that I knew of that sold perennials in the States back in the late 1980s and every time I start a new bed, I buy a few things from them in grateful appreciation for all that they did to get people interested in creating perennial beds.
And finally, I overheard someone commenting the other day that the most fragrant day lily they had ever encountered was something with the incredibly romantic (in my view) name of Prairie Moonlight and isn't it too bad that you can't buy it anywhere around here... Well now, the Internet can easily solve the hunt down for this and I got a box from Oakes Daylilies in Tennessee with a few Moonlights just this week. (I love greenhouses that include a free surprise with your order -- from Oakes, I got a day lily with the less enchanting name of First Lady Barbara, though Ed reminded me that the person whose name the lily holds is a sweet old lady who probably deserves to have at least a flower named after her.)
In the course of my work, I did look up occasionally -- for instance, when Ed said with surprise -- you know, the cheepers love the fallen petals from the pear tree! (By the way, in answer to a reader question -- yes, the same chicken delivers the same color of egg, so I can tell who may be slacking, given that our four girls have different egg shell pigmentation.)
And since I did some spot improvements around the path to the farmhouse, I paused to take a picture there, not because it was the most beautiful moment (there were many others equally beautiful), but because I typically hang my camera on the curly willow branch when I am outside, which puts me exactly in this pot when I retrieve it.
Oh, and let me include a photo of the bulb flowers -- the survivor tulips and the ever awesome daffodils, because they still are incredibly gorgeous and abundant.
In the evening, Snowdrop comes with her mom (dad's working) for supper.
I am thrilled to see them walking up the path, but all the commotion alerts the cheepers of her presence and they rush over to greet her (they do associate her with the good things in life -- eg stale bread) and she rushes to greet them and of course, neither can give what the other wants (they want bread, she wants to snuggle with them), but there is joy in that greeting anyway. They know she will at some point bring bread and she knows that in their feathered hearts she retains a special place.
(Speaking of a special place in the heart of another...)
Yes, the girl is all smiles tonight.
She eats with enthusiasm: pasta with lemon shrimp? Yum! Cooked carrots? Yes!
Final minutes of play...
... and then I drive these two home.
First day of May. How quickly it zipped by!
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