A string is a string and I foretold you that we would have a string of three: glorious sunny days, wonderfully brilliant days, ones that give meaning and luster to outdoor work.
I start off with animal care. This is only hard in the winter. Right now, a run back and forth between the barn, sheep shed and farmhouse is actually thrilling. It offers an opportunity to take it all in! All that spring stuff!
And I actually do that run several times, because we decided that the spinach, planted a while back, desperately needs water. I lug a watering can from farmhouse hose to the veggie patch, back and forth, several times. It's good, happy work.
(picking fallen daffodils along the way)
Breakfast.
The kids are here once more. It is still a little cool outside, but I coax them to at least try out my new path in the Big Bed.
I'll say this -- Snowdrop appreciates the daintiness of stepping from one flat wooden disc to the next. Sparrow doesn't quite see the point. Why not just wander around the bed itself?
Careful, little guy! Maybe we should venture out to more open spaces!
Inside, we read, then the kids draw.
And pretty quickly, it's lunchtime. (Snowdrop demonstrates blowing to her brother. He appreciates the attention if not, perhaps, the cool bursts of wind in his face.)
After the kids leave, I again dabble in the garden. Not much new stuff to plant yet. My Flower Factory purchases wont be picked and boxed for curbside buying until next weekend. Other stuff, too, appears on hold. Somewhat desperate to move things along, I call one of my favorite day lily growers (Oakes, out in Tennessee) asking them if my lilies are on the way (I had requested a mid April delivery). The salesperson speaks to me (with an exquisitely southern speech pattern) sympathetically -- why, you're in Wisconsin, aren't you?
I am...
Well now, it's cold up there! We wouldn't want to ship so far north until your freezing weather is done!
People have such funny ideas about our state.
I assure her I'm ready for her lilies.
Alright then. Maybe next week.
I want to tell her by then our growing season may be nearing an end (haha)! Ah well. A grower needs to be patient.
Evening. Last moments of being 66. Usually, one is tempted to reflect on the year gone by. I resist it this time around. The fact is, I consider myself to have been immensely lucky. There is a global crisis in place right now, yet my family is doing okay: no one is sick. I am on the same retired person's income as before. Ed and I have cheepers that lay eggs and flower beds that deliver a riot of color each year. All that is so good!
We eat a supper of leftovers, feeling grateful. For all that has not gone awry. And so very very grateful to those who under the most difficult and stressful conditions continue to work hard to keep us all healthy and well fed.
With love.
I start off with animal care. This is only hard in the winter. Right now, a run back and forth between the barn, sheep shed and farmhouse is actually thrilling. It offers an opportunity to take it all in! All that spring stuff!
And I actually do that run several times, because we decided that the spinach, planted a while back, desperately needs water. I lug a watering can from farmhouse hose to the veggie patch, back and forth, several times. It's good, happy work.
(picking fallen daffodils along the way)
Breakfast.
The kids are here once more. It is still a little cool outside, but I coax them to at least try out my new path in the Big Bed.
I'll say this -- Snowdrop appreciates the daintiness of stepping from one flat wooden disc to the next. Sparrow doesn't quite see the point. Why not just wander around the bed itself?
Careful, little guy! Maybe we should venture out to more open spaces!
Inside, we read, then the kids draw.
And pretty quickly, it's lunchtime. (Snowdrop demonstrates blowing to her brother. He appreciates the attention if not, perhaps, the cool bursts of wind in his face.)
After the kids leave, I again dabble in the garden. Not much new stuff to plant yet. My Flower Factory purchases wont be picked and boxed for curbside buying until next weekend. Other stuff, too, appears on hold. Somewhat desperate to move things along, I call one of my favorite day lily growers (Oakes, out in Tennessee) asking them if my lilies are on the way (I had requested a mid April delivery). The salesperson speaks to me (with an exquisitely southern speech pattern) sympathetically -- why, you're in Wisconsin, aren't you?
I am...
Well now, it's cold up there! We wouldn't want to ship so far north until your freezing weather is done!
People have such funny ideas about our state.
I assure her I'm ready for her lilies.
Alright then. Maybe next week.
I want to tell her by then our growing season may be nearing an end (haha)! Ah well. A grower needs to be patient.
Evening. Last moments of being 66. Usually, one is tempted to reflect on the year gone by. I resist it this time around. The fact is, I consider myself to have been immensely lucky. There is a global crisis in place right now, yet my family is doing okay: no one is sick. I am on the same retired person's income as before. Ed and I have cheepers that lay eggs and flower beds that deliver a riot of color each year. All that is so good!
We eat a supper of leftovers, feeling grateful. For all that has not gone awry. And so very very grateful to those who under the most difficult and stressful conditions continue to work hard to keep us all healthy and well fed.
With love.
