On the downside, we're not getting the rain. I foresee a week of dragging out the hose.
On the upside, it's just such a gorgeous day!
Let's take a peek at the garden first. These bells always look more like trumpets to me -- poised to announce their magnificence!
By 5:30, the cheepers are really anxious to be out. They peck at the wire door as if it should magically open for them. When I unlock the hatch, they lunge for the great outdoors, stretch their legs, dust off their feathers and immediately come back to me for a corn treat.
Meanwhile, back in the garden: Wait, have you forgotten about us? We're not done with our joyful bloom yet!
I see you, peonies. But I also see the dainty evening primrose in the bed that abuts the road. (The oenothera is not really a primrose, and it also blooms in the mornings, but nicknames stick and most people will say -- oh, what a gorgeous evening primrose!.)
We have a half leisurely breakfast on the porch.
[To the commenter who wonders about ants on our cut peonies -- the answer is "it depends." Most are free of ants by the time the blooms are fully open. We have, to my count, about a dozen peony bushes at the farmette and when they fall (and even when staked, they fall), it's time to cut them back and bring in the flowers. And to the commenter who tells the story of her son getting stung by a peony wasp -- yes, I see them on the buds as well. I will be very surprised if Snowdrop sails through her farmette days without some sting. Having myself spent childhood summers in the country, I know too well the sting of wasps and the tangled bee in my hair or, worse, the bare foot on a bed of clover where, inevitably, there will be the poor bee. But I haven't given up on bees or clover. Wasps -- well, if Ed wasn't around, I'd probably take a wack at them now and then.]
Breakfast is "half leisurely" because Ed and I have a meeting about protecting the endangered wetlands to the east of us. I ride my rose-ah-roo and though it's not supposed to rain (see first paragraph), on my return I go through an unusual cloud pattern of gray mists of a faint shower against a blue sky. The farmers never even pause.
And because it's Monday, Snowdrop comes over to the farmette. Ah, there she is, walking up the path to the farmhouse. With the chickens, who are convinced she carries with her bread.
So of course, we must then bring them bread.
It's like this, cheepers...
I shall cast a spell on you!
And then you will do as I say!
We leave the cheepers behind and head for greener pastures. Oh, how green it all is! It still boggles the mind that the world can be this transformed in such a short space of time.
I tell Snowdrop how cool it is to simply let yourself fall into the grass. Me, I would just lie there and take it all in, but Snowdrop loves the act of falling down and she does it again...
... and again.
And for the record, let it be noted here that she is the only one at the farmette who adores the purple flowers of a creeping charlie (an invasive that threatens to creep too much into nearly everything).
As I noted some time ago, she now also adores her red wagon. Grandma pulling her around in it? The best! Go, grandma, go!
I show her the first tomato!
And of course, we have to admire the vineyard! Look, Snowdrop, do you see the baby grapes?
Can we keep on going?
Let's return to the yellow house now, little one. Grandpa Ed just came up from his workshop in the sheep shed.
Yep, he's in the kitchen. Acrobatics!
Why she loves this is beyond me, but she does.
Eventually, they settle into a quieter game of ball. He bounces it to her and it flies between her arms and she laughs and laughs.
Ed is fixing himself a leftover lunch and so she must eat too (or else she'll snitch stuff off his plate and he will not protest). She keeps an eye on what he's up to:
And in the afternoon she and I run errands. We go to Paul's Cafe to get pickles (they're out of them, but I promised her a small treat and so we pause for one).
And we stop at the library where she spends a good bit of time studying the antics of others...
... before settling into a routine of picking out books for some hypothetical future read.
Tonight, I watch a documentary on the Normandy invasion of June 6, 1944. Yeah, images of the American Cemetery come back. How could they not...
On the upside, it's just such a gorgeous day!
Let's take a peek at the garden first. These bells always look more like trumpets to me -- poised to announce their magnificence!
By 5:30, the cheepers are really anxious to be out. They peck at the wire door as if it should magically open for them. When I unlock the hatch, they lunge for the great outdoors, stretch their legs, dust off their feathers and immediately come back to me for a corn treat.
Meanwhile, back in the garden: Wait, have you forgotten about us? We're not done with our joyful bloom yet!
I see you, peonies. But I also see the dainty evening primrose in the bed that abuts the road. (The oenothera is not really a primrose, and it also blooms in the mornings, but nicknames stick and most people will say -- oh, what a gorgeous evening primrose!.)
We have a half leisurely breakfast on the porch.
[To the commenter who wonders about ants on our cut peonies -- the answer is "it depends." Most are free of ants by the time the blooms are fully open. We have, to my count, about a dozen peony bushes at the farmette and when they fall (and even when staked, they fall), it's time to cut them back and bring in the flowers. And to the commenter who tells the story of her son getting stung by a peony wasp -- yes, I see them on the buds as well. I will be very surprised if Snowdrop sails through her farmette days without some sting. Having myself spent childhood summers in the country, I know too well the sting of wasps and the tangled bee in my hair or, worse, the bare foot on a bed of clover where, inevitably, there will be the poor bee. But I haven't given up on bees or clover. Wasps -- well, if Ed wasn't around, I'd probably take a wack at them now and then.]
Breakfast is "half leisurely" because Ed and I have a meeting about protecting the endangered wetlands to the east of us. I ride my rose-ah-roo and though it's not supposed to rain (see first paragraph), on my return I go through an unusual cloud pattern of gray mists of a faint shower against a blue sky. The farmers never even pause.
And because it's Monday, Snowdrop comes over to the farmette. Ah, there she is, walking up the path to the farmhouse. With the chickens, who are convinced she carries with her bread.
So of course, we must then bring them bread.
It's like this, cheepers...
I shall cast a spell on you!
And then you will do as I say!
We leave the cheepers behind and head for greener pastures. Oh, how green it all is! It still boggles the mind that the world can be this transformed in such a short space of time.
I tell Snowdrop how cool it is to simply let yourself fall into the grass. Me, I would just lie there and take it all in, but Snowdrop loves the act of falling down and she does it again...
... and again.
And for the record, let it be noted here that she is the only one at the farmette who adores the purple flowers of a creeping charlie (an invasive that threatens to creep too much into nearly everything).
As I noted some time ago, she now also adores her red wagon. Grandma pulling her around in it? The best! Go, grandma, go!
I show her the first tomato!
And of course, we have to admire the vineyard! Look, Snowdrop, do you see the baby grapes?
Can we keep on going?
Let's return to the yellow house now, little one. Grandpa Ed just came up from his workshop in the sheep shed.
Yep, he's in the kitchen. Acrobatics!
Why she loves this is beyond me, but she does.
Eventually, they settle into a quieter game of ball. He bounces it to her and it flies between her arms and she laughs and laughs.
Ed is fixing himself a leftover lunch and so she must eat too (or else she'll snitch stuff off his plate and he will not protest). She keeps an eye on what he's up to:
And in the afternoon she and I run errands. We go to Paul's Cafe to get pickles (they're out of them, but I promised her a small treat and so we pause for one).
And we stop at the library where she spends a good bit of time studying the antics of others...
... before settling into a routine of picking out books for some hypothetical future read.
Tonight, I watch a documentary on the Normandy invasion of June 6, 1944. Yeah, images of the American Cemetery come back. How could they not...
