When you come back from a trip, it feels not unlike the beginning of a new year: you have this urge to rewrite in some small manner the way you go about your day. Throw in some new stuff, discard antiquated strategies that haven't worked for years. Well, in my case -- for weeks.
I no longer want to start the day with a garden review and cleanup. Sure, I tidied it up a little today because there were obvious sore spots that needed my attention. But then I let it go. I'm finally beginning to look at it in a new light -- an autumnal light. Appreciate pockets of bloom, often coming in from the pots...
Smile at a sudden burst of phlox color in one corner or another...
Take in the weirdly off schedule, but very pretty hollyhock...
And then I move on to feed the animals.
Breakfast -- a much simpler meal of defrosted pound cake and leftover berries.
I do need to water the porch pots, but then, despite the brilliant day -- full of sunshine yet not too hot (that scorching heat will arrive tomorrow and stay with us through early next week), with diminished mosquito activity -- in other words, despite the nearly ideal conditions for outdoor work, I shrug and put it off for another day. Instead, Ed and I go out for one of our combination bike/hike outings. Just locally. To smell the prairie, because in early fall, you really appreciate the scent of a drying flora.
(such a blue sky!!)
In the afternoon, Ed picks tomatoes (lots of cherries!)...
... and I return to a more dutiful set of tasks. You cant really change all your routines. Habits are stronger than our impulse to shake things up. And so I water the pots. Mow the paths. And in the late afternoon, Ed and I go to our local farmers market, bringing our contribution of rhubarb for the bakers and eggs for Farmer John.
And now here comes the evening: finally, our dinner out, at Sardine. It is totally perfect.
We ate on the early side and come back just before the nearly full moon ascends to shine on the farmette lands.
May it shine brightly on you tonight as well.
With love...
