Wednesday

It's a rare day when one of us is not feeling up to snuff here at the farmhouse, but for Ed, today is such a day (he would deny this, so don't bother asking "how are you?" -- you're just going to get "great!"). I blame the frozen peas I told him not to eat.

The rhythm of the farmette gets a little thrown off when this happens. If he doesn't sleep well, I don't sleep well, so rest is rather elusive.

I finally get up just at the crack of dawn (that would be 5:18) and my early photos are all on the "new day is dawning" theme.






Every single one seems to be about sunshine poking through.






Even when I give one more nod to the peonies.





I do have to admit, the absence of rain is not good for anything. I'm watering all new plantings -- one bed each day (I have 8 major beds), but watering is a poor substitute for a good soak. (And no, I don't do soaking hoses. Watering is my hour of meditation. You can't meditate watching water drip out of a soaking hose.)

I have breakfast while Ed sleeps. Sleep is his way of dealing with just about any malaise.






And then I'm off to be with Snowdrop.

Now there's a perky child! Here she is, after her bath, running with an open book, telling a story with dramatic emphases. Clearly at this point, the tale has taken a frightening twist.






Yes, but does it have a happy ending?? She leaves me hanging.






We take a walk to the coffee shop and her mom joins us. Snowdrop has forgotten about strawberry tarts and delves with relish into bits of an oatmeal raisin cookie.






That was great, grandma!






We alternate between walking and pushing the little one in a stroller.






And then, at home again, Snowdrop and I play. Of course we play. But what? Well, there's "shapes." Circle goes in the circle, heart goes in the heart...






Okay, cool. But can't I put heart on my shoulder just for fun?







Or behind my back...






Ah, Snowdrop!


They say it will rain tomorrow. I don't believe it. I throw some water on the western bed that hasn't seen moisture for a while.

A message comes in from Al, the beekeeper. If we can establish buckwheat, he'll split one of his hives here. (Will we be bee keepers, or simply enablers in bee keeping operations?)

Days are so full of uncertainty. Will it be this way, will it be that? Should we even fuss?

But too, there are things that are rock solid. I love you, you love me, said to the ones in your life who really matter. No reminders needed, even as reminders are always welcome.