once in a blue moon

Did someone say "in a blue moon?" Hey, that could be a ride in my new-ish car (named by me "Blue Moon"). Or it could be a random rare event. Or it could be the full moon that lights the sky for the third time in a season of four full moons (unusual, as normally, each season has a total of only three).

Today, we have all three. 

It's a stunning day. Perfect, in fact.

But I do not linger on my morning walk.

I have errands to run. By car. To the bakery. For fresh loaves of dinner bread and while I'm at it -- let's throw in some breakfast croissants. 

 

 

 

And the radio happens to be on in the car, and the morning talk show on WPR happens to be about plants. Communicating their relationship to all growing things. Their care for us. Our abandonment of them. (Here is just one story featured this morning, in case you're interested -- and you should be.)

This topic has been flitting in and out of discussions Ed and I have about the natural world for a while now. The complexity of the ecosystem, communication between plants, trees, our inability (and unwillingness, with exceptional arrogance) to listen to what is truly taking place out there... Ed takes a predictable and some would say extreme position on these matters and I often accuse him of stubbornly closing the door to nuance. This happens at breakfast today.

But of course, it's not clear whether I am pushing back at the overly dramatic words of my stubborn dystopian,  or if perhaps I'm the one who is steadfastly refusing to admit that we all have collectively strayed from living in harmony with the natural world. I mean, how many of us spend any time thinking about how trees heal each other and, too, help us live a healthy life? Well, Snowdrop insists on regular visits with this tree:

But she is a child and we tend to dismiss kids' ideas as being fanciful, born of whimsy.

 *   *   *

So what random rare event can I claim for this day? Well, there was the breakfast that broke from my usual: not only did it have the bakery treats, but, too, we finally sliced up our "perfect peach." And it was indeed delicious and beautiful.

Then, too, there is the fallen tree just to the east of the barn: it's monstrously big and it split and crashed and now Ed is tasked with the job of taking it all down and heaving away the logs and branches. Though perhaps this isn't an unusual event: the farmette has many trees and some of them do split and fall. 

Here's a rather predictable event for you: a family dinner on the porch. Perfect weather, I tell you. Absolutely perfect.

I have been making this spin on a Greek shrimp salad, with couscous on the side for more than thirty years...

That's just a bit longer than the friendship between these two college buddies. (He's visiting this week and so he joins us for Sunday farmhouse dinner.)

("who, me? I'm not visiting! I'm a regular here!)

(golden watermelon bliss)

And the moon? It's full, it's beautiful, and it will be several years before we get another summer with four such masterpieces in one season. It shines brightly on us tonight, and I hope it does on you as well.