We broke down and flipped on the AC and thanked our stars that this old farmhouse does indeed have central air. I mean, it's just plain hot, record breaking hot -- downstairs, upstairs, everywhere. (We're hitting a high of 93F, or 34C.) So we cooled ourselves off and pretended it's summer.
Even though the plant life outside belongs to spring.
Our lilac and crab apple are yet to bloom, but I can see the buds racing to the finish line. With this weather, I expect they'll both explode within the next day or two, which is a good thing as I am away next week (in Chicago) and I would have hated to miss the fragrance and the utter prettiness of these two spring beauties.
For now, I watch their tight buds slowly relax their grip.
I took a few photos of the farmette from points I don't normally photograph. Everything is so beautiful right now that no matter where you stand, you're going to be enchanted. Unless you're one of those people who never smiles at a pretty meadow or a patch of unfurling ferns.
(old orchard, with some newer quince trees, in bloom)
(breakfast: there are about a million violets, growing everywhere; may as well bring some to the table...)
It's hot enough for me to take out the toddler pool for Snowdrop. No she is not a toddler. It's stupidly tiny for her. But splashing is something you can do even in the kitchen sink if that's all you have available to you you. Predictably, she seizes the moment (after school).
And as every year, I get her to pick some of our asparagus. She'll eat a few stalks right there, before handing the rest to me.
A blast of summer. Strange and a bit surreal, but after that never ending cold early spring, I don't hear anyone complaining.
One more day of the heat wave. Then, of course, come the storms. And a gentler end to spring.
