Wednesday

The trouble with throwing around the label of "perfection" is that you can't top it. I mean, if Monday was the best, then what would you call today -- with warm temps, partly sunny skies, blooming crab apples and opening lilacs? Super perfect? How about simply sublime!

We start off with a porch breakfast.






And then we go out and stay out. Ed is working on replacing the benches at the picnic table (the old ones rotted through). Me, I take on the packets of seeds, purchased with hope and anticipation way back in March.






I put in cosmos at the edge of the lily bed, in the back beds by the sheep shed, and ever so lightly in the front bed.

I put in nasturtium seeds between the pots of annuals and along the edge of three other beds.

I put in icelandic poppies, alyssum and babies breath inside the teepee that supports peas and clematis.

I put in beans by the teepee and by the sweet pea flower trellis.

And all the while, I take in the sweetness of this perfect day, where the blooms on the crabs are at their most perfect moment -- still pink, still unfurling, and absolutely stunning to behold. (By the end of the day, the buds will be mostly opened, mostly white.)






It truly is hard to believe that a month ago, we had nothing to admire. Today, we have everything!






We pause in the afternoon. I eat something, Ed eats something. And I study the bags of wildflower seeds. These will go in tomorrow.





They're our great experiment. We worked so hard to clear the beds by the sheep shed. If the flowers take off, we'll have a prototype for the weedy fields in back of the barn. (We're a tiny bit apprehensive: we didn't get all the weed roots out and, too, the cheepers appear to love pecking out fresh seeds and sprouts. Ed tried planting some grasses in places where he felled a few trees and even a covering of hay did not keep the chickens out. It's a good thing we like them, or we'd be pretty annoyed!






Snowdrop is here after school, but it's Wednesday, so play time is limited. No time outside.


 



(well, unless you consider the porch to be outdoors)






(clothespin play...)






A few pages of a book, a few twirls... (She is so tall already!)





... and we're off to Storybook Ballet.

Snowdrop has her last dance class of the season and it is a good one -- tracking her current favorite story, Mary Poppins. When I tell her it'll be Mary Poppins, she throws down her play, dashes to get ready and is, in fact, first in line for class.






(Sitting up, straining to catch every word...)






And away goes Mary Poppins!










I return to the farmette just before 6. I glance at the weather report: hmm, not so good for the days ahead. Maybe I should take another photo of the crab apple tree. If the weather turns awful, her blooms may get knocked off pretty quickly.

As I look out the front door, I hear the meowing of the little ones. Hi Jacket. Hi Dance.

Wait. What's that? It certainly appears that Stop Sign has brought her kitten here! That's Jacket, and Dance, and.... a new one!






So, Long Whiskers, the winter visitor, seems to have left a bit of himself behind! That young one most certainly has the markings of a Maine Coon cat.

She is calm. Somewhat more approachable than the others. And Dance and Jacket seem unbothered by her presence. They sniff her and let her be. Oh, but feeding her with those two around is a challenge! It takes the good part of my evening to sort out who should be eating what and where, (I do manage to push some deworming meds her way. We haven't been able to grab any of these guys yet to take to the vet, but we surely can at least take a stab at keeping them healthy!)






The last bits of sunlight... One last view toward the crab.





 You should never take the most beautiful days for granted. Love them, revel in their magnificence, look forward to their return.

We do. We really do.