Picture this: partly cloudy skies, a brisk wind, temperatures hovering in the seventies F (mid twenties C).
Isn't that the perfect set up for a day of outdoor work?
I'm up with the cheepers at 5:30 and though I fully intend to get back in bed and continue the countdown to a good night's sleep, I cannot walk to the coop without noticing something that needs to be done in the yard and once I start working, I keep on going.
Initially, I work by the driveway (such a perfect place to watch a sunrise!).
(It's the week of the heaviest bloom for my Weigela shrubs -- my variety is aptly named "wine and roses" and it is just such a stunning border plant!)
I weed the new bed by the front of the farmette as well. It'll be a while before it fully fills in, but there's a certain dainty loveliness to it even now. Here's one heavy bloomer:
The cheepers follow me, but I tell them that the main road is no place for chickens. If anyone were to drive by, they'd be surprised to see free ranging chickens without the barrier of a fence to keep them away from the traffic, but I never worry that they would run out onto the pavement. Why does a chicken cross the road? That's not a question that worries us at all. I need only say "chepers!" loudly and they'll move to wherever I want them to go.
By late morning I force myself to switch attention to the farmhouse. Sunday is cleaning day and I've been away from that obligation too long.
Finally, a late breakfast. On the porch.
Ed and I talk then about things that really need our attention outside. I'd clipped off large limbs that were blocking light. I'd weeded, I'd cleared the ever-spreading raspberries from paths, I'd transplanted errant cosmos. What next?
Ed has to clear some honeysuckle from the side of the property -- a very unsexy but necessary task. We both need to finish mowing -- he, with the big mower, me with the hand pushed little guy that will work the tight corners.
All the while, I feel so happy with our efforts. I look around and I recognize the imperfections, but I know this to be true: we did all the work ourselves. All the chipping, the pruning, the planting -- on and on -- we gave it our time. It's immensely satisfying. We don't quite keep up with it in the way that I think we should, but we do alright by this land.
(Ed asks: are the peonies supposed to be this big? I say -- no, but this year, they are!)
In the late afternoon I take a walk around the lesser lake with Snowdrop and her mom. Oh, is she full of enthusiasm for this venture!
This love of outdoor walks is surely born of her adventurous spirit.
Today, she insists on holding both our hands even as she is in the stroller. For a brief second, I am reminded of pushing her stroller in Paris as the rains came down and I struggled to keep an umbrella over the both of us. One hand pushing, the other -- holding an umbrella, or today -- her trusting hand.
They say this grand weather will continue. Really? I could ask for nothing more.
Isn't that the perfect set up for a day of outdoor work?
I'm up with the cheepers at 5:30 and though I fully intend to get back in bed and continue the countdown to a good night's sleep, I cannot walk to the coop without noticing something that needs to be done in the yard and once I start working, I keep on going.
Initially, I work by the driveway (such a perfect place to watch a sunrise!).
(It's the week of the heaviest bloom for my Weigela shrubs -- my variety is aptly named "wine and roses" and it is just such a stunning border plant!)
I weed the new bed by the front of the farmette as well. It'll be a while before it fully fills in, but there's a certain dainty loveliness to it even now. Here's one heavy bloomer:
The cheepers follow me, but I tell them that the main road is no place for chickens. If anyone were to drive by, they'd be surprised to see free ranging chickens without the barrier of a fence to keep them away from the traffic, but I never worry that they would run out onto the pavement. Why does a chicken cross the road? That's not a question that worries us at all. I need only say "chepers!" loudly and they'll move to wherever I want them to go.
By late morning I force myself to switch attention to the farmhouse. Sunday is cleaning day and I've been away from that obligation too long.
Finally, a late breakfast. On the porch.
Ed and I talk then about things that really need our attention outside. I'd clipped off large limbs that were blocking light. I'd weeded, I'd cleared the ever-spreading raspberries from paths, I'd transplanted errant cosmos. What next?
Ed has to clear some honeysuckle from the side of the property -- a very unsexy but necessary task. We both need to finish mowing -- he, with the big mower, me with the hand pushed little guy that will work the tight corners.
All the while, I feel so happy with our efforts. I look around and I recognize the imperfections, but I know this to be true: we did all the work ourselves. All the chipping, the pruning, the planting -- on and on -- we gave it our time. It's immensely satisfying. We don't quite keep up with it in the way that I think we should, but we do alright by this land.
(Ed asks: are the peonies supposed to be this big? I say -- no, but this year, they are!)
In the late afternoon I take a walk around the lesser lake with Snowdrop and her mom. Oh, is she full of enthusiasm for this venture!
This love of outdoor walks is surely born of her adventurous spirit.
Today, she insists on holding both our hands even as she is in the stroller. For a brief second, I am reminded of pushing her stroller in Paris as the rains came down and I struggled to keep an umbrella over the both of us. One hand pushing, the other -- holding an umbrella, or today -- her trusting hand.
They say this grand weather will continue. Really? I could ask for nothing more.
