Tuesday

Oh, this day, this beautiful June day really does belong to the sweet sweet innocence of Snowdrop. We talk about her, play with her, chortle with her too and her spark become everyone's spark.

I should say -- if it isn't obvious from the photos -- that this is one glorious day! Weather-wise, it cannot be improved upon. Sunny, breezy, warm but not hot. Just splendid!

My morning garden walk:






I study a bee in one of the false indigo plants.










We're always so happy when bees and butterflies spend time in the flower fields. This year, they've been ever present. Frogs, swallows -- all our friends, all here, sharing this small piece of heaven.


Breakfast on the porch...







...with a view toward the flowers by our parked cars:






And near the noon hour, I pick up Snowdrop and she is as always full of smiles and explanations.

We go to the park by the beach and I ask her if she wants to swing.
Actually, I want to climb, she tells me with conviction. The word actually is a real favorite of hers lately.

And so she climbs.






She is the king of the mountain!






The captain of the ship!






There is, in fact, a lot to observe on the lesser lake today -- the boats are removing the weed growth and the ducklings are learning to navigate the waters and we watch a bit mesmerized by it all.






And it feels so warm out there in the little park, that I suggest to Snowdrop a dip in the wading pool at the farmette when we get back. I'd filled it with water earlier to warm it up some. She, of course, loves the idea and runs to the pool as soon as I let her out of the car.

Gaga, I got my dress wet!






That's okay. It'll dry in no time. Maybe you want your swimsuit?
Yes!






She and ahah spend quite the handful of minutes splashing each other.






And then she pauses and, standing in that pool, launches into a long soliloquy -- a story that she is making up, one about her "mother" (a word she never uses in her real conversations to and about her mommy), her "grandfather" and buckets and birds and umbrellas and water and work and the one thing that is obvious is that she does not want the story to end and so she spins it on and on...






... until I finally tell her -- Snowdrop, it really is time for us to go inside.






In the evening, long after Snowdrop leaves, after dinner, after all dishes are put away, Ed and I go out behind the barn, into the backfields, and, equipped with thick gloves, we pull hundreds, nay thousands of stalks of Canada thistle. We don't cultivate the land back of the barn, but we view the encroaching thistle like a hostile force. Why should they stop at the edge of the field? Why not dominate every inch of farmette land?

So we pull. And pull. And pull. Until we can pull no more.

You may wonder -- do Ed and I enjoy breaking our backs and puncturing hands pulling at thistle? That's a tough question to answer. In theory -- no. But working side by side like this, on something tough is so deeply satisfying that the "no" morphs quickly to a "yes."

Good night, good night! Don't let the thistle bite!