Thursday

Summer days for me are never lazy, rarely hazy and honestly, not that crazy. I remember when I traveled from Poland for a summer in Connecticut (How did that happen? Read about it in my book, Like a Swallow!). I thought then -- wow, this place is muggy and warm, but there is never a day when you didn't feel like the air was closing in on you. There was, every day, a haze. An oppressive haze. I missed the crispness of a blue sky.

Here, in Wisconsin, the skies are often without a trace of the mid-Atlantic mistiness. Today is a classic example of it: bright and beautiful.

Okay, not hazy. They're also not crazy because I rarely travel far in July and August. I try to avoid vacation crowds, at the airports and elsewhere, and, too, I grow my flowers for these months. I wouldn't want to leave them for too long when they are in their most splendid moment.

And of course, not lazy, because there is endless work to do outside. Today, once again, I stepped out early and picked up a hose and snippers and got to work, finishing just before it was time for me to get Snowdrop.

(water on the plump buds of a day lily)

(The meadow project in the new orchard)

(There's always time for breakfast.)

 

The girl said she wanted some outdoor time and I was happy to go along with this. We headed to the young orchard. Two draws there right now: the meadow (where the scent of Sweet William was just intoxicating!)...

... and our cherry trees. She loves these ripe fruits straight off the tree. She calls them sun-warmed and they really do taste like they still have some sun in them!

(Inside, she goes after the blueberry muffins with a vengeance. No one loves those muffins more than Snowdrop.)

Evening. Ed and I work outside again, then retreat as the light fades. The fireflies fill the courtyard, as if in celebration of all that lies ahead. We put away our tools and go inside. Deep breath of night air, exhale. One more time: in... and let it go. Until tomorrow.