It's so darn quiet without the swallows! Oh, other birds do engage in conversations, but swallows had their own voice and, too, their movement -- quick, graceful -- filled the space with energy. We scratch our heads and puzzle over this: how did they all decide to leave at once? Dozens of them! Packed their little swallow suitcases, set the alarm clock and took off. Such a well coordinated exodus! Only their nests remain.
[If you stare at the sky long enough, you will see that at least one swallow stayed behind. Dozens have left, but one dug in her heels and refused. Why? or, is she the mom of a little bird who, halfway through the day announced that she cannot find her teddy bear? Did the mom come back to look for the lost stuffy? Clearly we have no knowledge of what goes on in a swallow's head.]
It's quiet too because the development that sprung to the north and to the west does not provide much lawn space and indeed, many of the homeowners have opted for prairie patches over lawn. So we don't have the usual suburban sounds of lawnmowers. Ed thought they might have rules about when or even if you can mow, but regardless, none are audible on this Sunday morning. Which makes it all the more embarrassing that we should be the ones making noises. Or at least Ed is. The 60 year old tractor is now running thanks to his tinkering and he is aiming to try tilling the lands out back. It will not be quiet!
But that's for another hour. In the morning, I walk through the flower beds, snipping, pulling and admiring and I revel in the peace of that moment, where nothing matters except for the count of spent lilies falling into the green bucket. Between 200 and 300 today.
(This clematis fills the tripod with purple blooms right about... now!)
(I planted the day lily before a seed from the crab planted itself behind it and grew into a rather large tree!)
(How I love this meadow in the new orchard!)
(Bold Beatrice gets to the corn before I throw my morning handful out onto the dirt.)
(Bossy Cherry and Unfriendly One, or is it Two? -- finding comfort in shade and water)
Over breakfast, we talk about the swallows in the way that you keep talking about your kids after they've packed up and moved. You try to switch gears, but it doesn't happen right away.
Eventually we turn to reflecting about our "neighbors." The ones across the road that are botching an "urban farming" operation. And the ones who have moved into the new neighborhood. The median strips there have mini prairies planted (instead of grass) and I'm curious about one of the flowers. It's beautiful and I cannot readily identify it.Ed and I walk over to inspect it. Is it Ironweed? Want to help me out here?
(close up!)
As we walk in the warm sun, we see a bird hovering -- one that's bigger than our beloved swallows. It's a beautiful reminder of the richness of diversity. You miss one bird, but hey, you have another -- different, with different habits, but magnificent to watch nonetheless.
We cut through the prairie to the north of the farmette...
And now we're back, working at our chosen tasks.
In the evening, the young family is here for dinner. It's a little bit tricky because all kids were exposed to a case of Covid last week, but they appear healthy and all tests come back negative. Dodged that bullet!
It's warm, but clouds help keep the heat down. A dinner on the porch is worth it in any case.
I watch these swallow-like little ones and I think -- it's never dull with kids at the table.
(the dish says "peach," the mouth says "chocolate!" How can that be?)
Evening. I think how quickly summer days go by. They should be longer, what with all those daylight hours and yet they zip like a child on a zipline. One minute I'm cutting fruits for breakfast, the next -- I'm putting away supper dishes and Ed is asking me if I'd like some popcorn.
No matter. Summer evenings are beautiful. Cool enough for opening the windows. And you know that soon, very soon, a new morning will bring its bounty of flowers and fruits and birds and kids and hope. As wise people tell us -- life is good so long as you can get up in the morning with the belief that there will be joyful elements to the day. And we do. And I hope you do as well. [Here's my reading suggestion for those of you who start the day with a scouring of the news, only to feel like slowly any joie de vivre is being sucked out of you. At least this author will tell you -- quit poring over the news with diligent attention to every detail. Your mental health deserves a better beginning to the day.]
To a happy and peaceful morning tomorrow! With lots of joie looming before you.
