is it Sunday?

If the goal of a Sunday is to take it easy, then Ed and I failed miserably. We again spent half the night on taxes -- me learning how to file corrected returns, Ed plodding along with his own paperwork -- and we again spent the entire morning and most of the afternoon on the farmette tree project.

It's a warm and pretty day for it. 

 

 

 

I do still have flower work ahead of me and Ed has said that we really have to start putting the tomatoes into the ground, but all this is put on hold: we need to plant the bare root trees (more like pencil twigs at this point) before they start to bud. The goal is to do at least ten a day. Yesterday, Ed caught us up on his own, but today, after breakfast...

... we both go out and get to work. We put in a few maples, then switch to chestnuts, and still in the sunny stretch of land -- finish off with a handful of pecans. 

It takes time. Once again I stop before we reach the magic number of ten. I switch to dinner prep because the young family is here this evening and honestly, these are the last minutes of a life as a family of four for them. In a few days, life will get more complicated, in as much a newborn complicates routines for a bit before a new rhythm is found.

Before we sit down to dinner, we have a few moments of play. It is the perfect day for it -- not too warm, not too cold, not yet buggy. I mowed some paths earlier in the day so that the kids can go further afield. And of course, we visit the newly planted trees.

Dinner.

 

And afterwards? Well, we return to the tree planting, working past sunset to get the last three into the ground. So no couch time, no sip a cool drink outside time, no slow paced time at all. But you know, we did occasionally pause and listen to the birdsong. In the evening, the sandhills came to the edge of farmette lands as well and Ed looked around and said -- we should have done this tree project fifteen years ago: this is such a good place for trees!  Yes it is. And I'm glad we pushed ourselves to finally do it this year.