Wednesday, May 23, 2018


It's amazing how much there is to do in a garden that is "all finished" and ostensibly ready for action. As Ed and I both walk the path to the barn in the early morning, we get distracted -- by the new batch of weeds, by the timber that needs a haul, by the landscape timber I want under the crab apple, by the two last day lilies that need a home, by the last packets of seeds, by the bush that has been begging for a trim for about ten years, by the tree seedlings: buckthorn, box elder, maple, all wanting to take over the world if you let them, by the cat that comes calling and the chicks that want a handful of corn. And so our morning walk to the barn and back, instead of taking five minutes, lasts about three hours.

(Young chicks, perching on a flower support fence. Oh, but I love these three little girls!)

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(The tulips are almost finished, the anemone came back beautifully this year, and the lavender -- well, it's a new one and so even though it's May, it's at full bloom.)

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Breakfast is very late. (On the porch, just being set up now...)

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It is once again a beautiful and warm day. Unfortunately, people are starting to talk of mosquitoes and it is true, we've caught sight of one or two. They're not a bother yet, but they surely will be and so I work extra hard, thinking that soon it wont be so pleasant to spend the whole day buried in bushes, or pushing around dense lily leaves.

Afternoon. I'm excited to be picking up Snowdrop! A day like this offers so many play possibilities! 

But when I come in to fetch the little one, I find her significantly dispirited.  For a three year old, it can't always be a smooth ride in school (I suppose this is the case for anyone at any age) and she has had a few bumps in her day. Rather than seeing her default smile, I find her full of tears. She just wants to curl up in a comfy place and feel good again.

I've been through twelve years of school and many years of preschool with my kids and so I can't possibly be surprised that a day may feel wobbly every now and then.

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But, it isn't hard to restore peace in the little girl's heart. Spring is awesome, the day is magnificent and most important -- I have in the fridge a bowl full of red delicious cherries.

We are in the thick of cherry season! And Snowdrop loves cherries!

We read the book that she loved last year in May and that she double loves this year, now that she can get so much more of the cadence and nuance of the text (Cherries and Cherry Pits -- a book that I read to my daughters when they were young). And of course, she eats lots of cherries. And I ask her if she would like to go out and inspect the wee green cherries that are emerging in our young orchard. Yes she would!

(Distracted by the dandelion puffs)

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(She is appreciative -- of the dandelions, the young cherries, the asparagus that grows wild here...)

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And she notices that I have set up her wading pool. That was before I retrieved her in such a discombobulated state. In fact though, the wading pool is just the distraction she needs. Especially when she learns that I have found a swim suit for her that has... cherries! It's the little things that bring forth a smile, no?

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She spends some time playing outside the pool too and the little girls just adore following her.

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Out of the blue, Snowdrop announces that she wants to climb a tree. Well now. I suggest a change of clothing. My backup pair of shorts hasn't arrived yet, but she is happy to pretend that summer p.j. bottoms are shorts. Good. Off we go to the Norway pines. Surely I can help hoist her up on the branches there?

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No. It's a rough climb. We give it a try, but in the end, she prefers a moment in the grass, with dandelions all around her.

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The day ends with bucketfuls of laughter and a wild indoor game of ball.

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Snowdrop goes home, Ed goes for a Wednesday night bike ride. I'm left in the farmhouse watching the evening set in.There may be better things in life than watching a beautiful May day turn into a beautiful May night. I can't think of many right now.