farmhouse routines

While I was hiking with Ed at Governor Dodge, watching the clouds roll in and thinking, then writing about probabilities (yesterday), as it turns out, Snowdrop had just had a conversation about the same with her mom. They were getting ready for a meeting with her first grade teacher and her mom was encouraging her to think about goals and hopes for the year. Her teacher would be asking about that. In hearing her little girl's reply, my daughter must have nudged her a little. To perhaps come up with hopes that at least had some chance of being realized.  Here's my daughter's summary of Snowdrop's response: “Nothing is zero percent. Everything is at least one percent.” — my hopeful child of a professor of statistics and probability, discussing her chances of growing a rainbow mermaid tail.

 

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How quickly you slip into old habits once you're back from vacation! Admittedly, that was not a very long vacation. Less than thirty hours of being away. (Was it really that short?) Can you even stop thinking about rote activities in a day and a night away from home? Well, I have Mr. Stay-at-home by my side and so I have to take what little is offered in terms of getaways. Already I'm hearing mild mumbling about perhaps canceling our September hike. (My answer so far: no! But Ed has a way of chipping away at my defenses...)

Still, there is nothing wrong with our routines. Even on mornings with a threat of rain.

I continue to pick off some spent lilies, but I'm putting off even thoughts of garden work until.... oh, maybe October. Not this month, not next month. Let's get rid of the bugs first.

Breakfast on the porch. We talk about the cats.

Dance, our matriarch here (even though she's not the mother of any of the rest) and our most "attached" cat is deliberately avoiding us to let us know that she did not appreciate being shut out of our lives in the past day or two. Think I'm making this stuff up? Well, you didn't see her reject the shrimp I offered her as a gesture of peace and mutual admiration. Nor her jumping off the couch when I sat in my usual spot next to her. She chose to hide in our bedroom, probably because she knows I hate it when she spends much time there. (Achoo!)

Well, no matter. All other cats and chickens are as before: happy to be fed, happy I suppose to see us here again. (Though the concept of a happy chicken is, I swear, a human fantasy. Chickens never smile. They just peck around the garden and lay eggs and every once in a while take a dirt bath. That's it. Content? Maybe. But happy? That's probably a stretch.)

 

In the afternoon, I suggest a walk. 

We go to our local county park. Surely the bugs wont overwhelm us! 

And here's a pleasant surprise: the goldenrod is just as abundant and beautiful here as it is in the prairies of Governor Dodge State Park!

A sweet little reminder of our vacation. 

I wish that we'd had done the longer trail today, because for once we are so fit! But, the heat was oppressive and Ed was ready to get out of the sun.

So an easy slide back into our farmette life! And yes, you guessed it: even a frittata for dinner. With green beans and mushrooms and corn.