Wednesday - 75th

Heat like this wont disappear without storms chasing it away. So we'll get the tumult, the violence in the skies tonight and especially tomorrow. For now -- it's just plain hot.

This means that we close the windows to the humidity. We hold off running the AC until a time when the night air remains sticky hot. That's not the case now. We get a nice breeze going after the sun sets. And it means that I do some small scale gardening before breakfast.

(the most ubiquitous iris: I've divided it many times and stuck clumps of it in the most obscure farmette spots and it keeps on chuggin' along...)






(Our barn does not lack air flow!)






(The last moment of glory for the big lilac...)






The weed growth (all that rain!) is discouraging, but at least the earth is damp and the plants are not parched. We're in that inbetween stage where irises are just emerging and peonies are not yet blooming. The Big Bed looks lush and very green. The flowering happens bit by bit, only to explode fully by the end of June.






(The front bed iris against a blue false indigo and a dainty little red and yellow columbine.)






Breakfast is on the porch. But it's interrupted by our big weekly grocery delivery. We can't linger too long. The produce, the dairy stuff, the yogurt bars for the kids -- none of it should be out in this heat.

(Mellow, even if cut a little short...)






And now comes the time for all that sudsing and washing and and wiping and washing again and again until all that needs to be cold is in the fridge and my over-scrubbed hands are asking me very politely to give it a break.

One more chore for this morning: Ed made an adjustment to the big tractor mower and so I hop on it to give the meandering farmette paths a good trim. We've become that property where the lawn is never mowed, where occasional flowers pop out of the tall grasses, and where only a path will let you comfortably walk from one end of our vast space to the other, weaving, circling, only to eventually return you to your starting point.






In the afternoon, Snowdrop is here. We are all in that not unpleasant state of summer lethargy, even though it's not summer and we should be active, if only to stay fit and healthy, but you can't push yourself today. It's just too hot.






Here's a solution: try out our new wiggly hose!






Very soon she gets me wet.






And she gets herself wet.

And perhaps predictably, she begs for the wading pool. That same wading pool that was just perfect for age one, two, maybe three years at a stretch. After a winter in the garage, it's dusty and needs a wash. All these are trivial impediments. As every year, when you get that unexpected burst of hot air, a dip in something so cool is heavenly!

Will she ask for this piece of late spring heaven when she is not five but fifteen?






The toys for the pool are the same as the ones I first threw in there four years ago. An octopus, a tea cup, a small boat. She needs nothing more to spin a story. (Oh! I do add a bowl of fresh cherries!)






It's tough to get her out of this little tub.






(Inside, she surprises me by choosing to play with her babies. She hasn't touched them in months. There's something comforting in seeing her arrange them in a school group time.)






Eventually I take her home. The two men of the house are hanging outdoors. There are storm clouds, but nothing threatening.






Time for me to head back and do some cooking. Wednesday is frittata day. Spinach and mushrooms and cheese. And eggs of course. It's become our isolation Wednesday special. Predictability in these unpredictable times.






Ed and I walk the farmette lands afterwards. Thinking, talking, sowing seeds. It feels wonderful to be doing something that will have a good outcome. Maybe a few more wildflowers along the path. Maybe.

We return home. It feels good to just be home.