Tuesday, June 13, 2017


Just as the night receded and daylight began to take hold, a rumbling noise announced the coming of a storm. Our bedroom skylight was pounded with more water than you'd get from a hose nozzle placed at full stream. I felt at once relieved for all growing things and slightly concerned that this was overkill. Ed mumbled something about the coming of the bug season.

We had nearly two inches of rain in that half hour and predictably, the ground lost its caked dry look.

But the steamy heat did not disappear with the storm. As I cracked open the patio door and stepped outside, I saw  that we were in for another very warm day.

(Garden walk: these white flowers -- carolina phlox miss lingard -- will always remind me of my daughter's wedding at the farmette just at the time of their rampant bloom.)

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A porch breakfast, with a few toppled blooms added to the vase...

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When I pick up Snowdrop at her school, she is ready for play! (And so she wants her "play shoes," which I bring with me for our adventuring expeditions.)

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(That pose that is half tease, half triumph, all Snowdrop!)

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A coffee shop stop for a cherry scone...

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And now we're at the farmette. I point her to the ripening strawberries in the pots. This is what summer should be like: running from sandbox to strawberry bush and proclaiming the berries to be yummy!

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In the end, it's not the heat that pushes the little one indoors -- it's the pesky cheepers. They are insanely pushy in wanting their rightful share of bread and if they see you moving briskly, they assume you're about to give them something. They rush toward you and strain their necks to make sure you're not hiding a piece of bread. Amusing to any adult, but a bit unnerving to a little girl. Especially a little girl  who has just suffered a scare a few days back at the playground, when an exuberant (off leash) dog pounced on her and knocked her down flat.  I see that the memory of that encounter has stayed with her. A young child doesn't care about intent. She wants to feel in control of her space. Typically words give her power, but the chicken pea brain doesn't recognize "chicken, get away from me, I don't have anything for you."

Oh, those cheepers!

Late afternoon: she does what she loves to do these days: pretend shop. For groceries. And sheets. And plates and who knows what else. Because she does that each week with her mommy.

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Evening: Ed and I walk the land. We knock down thistle in the grape patch, bemoan the eaten apples and cherries in our young orchard, admire the raspberries in the overgrown (yet again! who has time for all of the land maintenance!) raspberry canes.

Java follows. We don't have anything for you, Java!

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I don't think she believes us.