Friday

Well, I think David was right. In fact, in most instances, my PT guy has been extremely accurate in his assessments and predictions. (Snowdrop, who is familiar with PT protocols because one of her brothers has needed to do physical therapy for a while now, calls them Physical Tormenters.) David says that uniformly, people with knee replacements have reported that the three week moment is transformative. Suddenly things shift. You begin to feel (almost) like yourself again. And that's true. Today, three weeks (and two days) into the game, I didn't need to get up at dawn to unstiffen the tortuously stiffened leg. The morning seemed (almost) normal. Nap? Not necessary. Exercises? Swift and helpful. Transformative!

Morning walk.

The lilacs are fading, but the Allium is throwing up its purple spikes, and the first Clematis is ablaze with large white blooms!

It's supposed to be a cooler day, but we eat out on the porch anyway. Warm enough!

And then I put in my last sweet peas and my one green bean, and Ed and I work on putting in more seeds into our newly tilled meadows in the new peach orchard. It's not the end of that project. The piece of tilled land is larger than I thought. More seeds are on their way!

What a kind spring season this has been for us!

Snowdrop is here this afternoon. 

She is the only kid without The Bug in her family. Maybe she had it earlier on, maybe she didn't, but in any case, she is fine and peppy and happy to be listening to birds again.

She leaves, I nap. I guess I'm not totally up and running yet. Close, but not fully operational!

And in the evening Ed and I do a big exhale. The last few weeks haven't been easy, but we powered through and things are looking good out there on the farmette lands. Yes, tending to the plants is a constant project that has no end (though for me, toward the final days of August, I feel like I want to hit the pause button for sure!). Or, more accurately, we have a million little projects scattered over every square foot of land. I'm certain I know every plant out there. Every tree, every invading weed. I can't walk two feet without wanting to bend down to pluck, redirect, support one thing or another. Yes, this place has swallowed me, swallowed us whole. And you know what -- I do believe that's a good thing.