Monday, May 07, 2018


Not every plant that is supposed to come back in spring does, in fact return. I'm lucky with my success rate (aided greatly by the fact that I avoid planting fragile perennials; day lilies, for example, are not very fragile), but still, occasionally I lose something. I view it as an opportunity to put in something new! In will go Lullaby Baby, Pastel Inspiration and Wild One. (Lovely day lily names, don't you think?)

But tulips -- well, there's nothing good to be said about a bed of chomped off stalks.  Here, my success rate is one for every ten lost to chompers (rabbits? dear? groundhog? all the above?).

(Daffodils, on the other hand, are tempting to no animal that I know of. The feast is entirely for our eyes only.)

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And today, on the eight week birthday of the three chicks, we are grateful that so far, they're adjusting well.

Though this morning, they scared us a bit: they would not leave the coop. No chicken I know stays in a coop when the door is flung open, unless she is laying of brooding. These girls are too young for that. We're immensely puzzled by this, until we pause long enough to listen empathetically, with their sensitive ears: the rumble of the trucks in the fields right next to us is tremendous! They're terrified.

We place the pen close to the barn and herd them into their familiar colorful yard, with food and water. They relax. And I'm sure they're reassured to see the big hens taking in stride all the loud grading and leveling taking place around us. Within a few minutes, they're happy chickens once again.

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Breakfast, not so relaxed (I have too much on my list for today!), but lovely nonetheless.

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And then I lose myself to planting. With an eye to what's blooming around me. (Always beautiful, stately and pinky perfect -- the bleeding hearts.)

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And have I adequately expressed my love for daffodils?

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It's a gorgeous day! It's warm -- mid seventies F (24C), maybe higher. Isn't it a great day to dust off the old wading pool for Snowdrop after school?

She's thrilled. On goes the swimsuit, out comes the pool

Let's go, grandma!

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Snowdrop, your hair is swaying just like the willow branches!

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Maybe we should pull it back in a pony tail? There, that's better.

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I'm very surprised to see the little chicks at the pool. They're usually on the bashful side. But the water intrigues them. No, we're not going to let them jump in! We do draw some lines in what's acceptable chicken behavior.

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(Ed, in a rather contemplative moment.)

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I'm thinking it's time to go inside.
She's thinking -- isn't this a beautiful time to bring out the bubble making stuff?

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On these warm, gorgeous days, even if you putz around inside, you don't feel like you're inside. The world is in your pocket. You are in charge!

I'd say the same is true for Snowdrop. Outdoors, indoors - it's all good! (Here, she's proudly demonstrating a character set up she put together.)

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Evening. Snowdrop has gone home. Ed and I stay outside for a long long time. Two more day lilies go in, a handful of weeds come out.

We walk over to the construction site to the east of us. The truck farmers had been warned. They no longer till these fields, nor do they pick up the remains from years of growing here. An abandoned asparagus field, an old flower bed -- all making room for the new development.

Back at the farmette, Ed mows a bit of the grass where we're about to put in buckwheat. The old cheepers have retired, the little girls take in the last of the day's sun.

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I suppose there are warmer, brighter, better days to be had, but we offer no complaints: this day was one of May's finest. Of this I'm sure.