That's a quote from Green Acres of course! Remember when TV shows were that basic? And we still laughed. (Now, they're more sophisticated, but we dont find that much to laugh about anymore. Maybe it's us?)
I thought about country living as I stepped out into the unreal world without the usual flood of mosquitoes. I tried not to think that I was like one of those people who preferred a perfect green lawn to one that's a mixture of dandelions, clovers, and grasses. (To make clear: I do not like perfect green lawns.) I had rid the landscape of stuff that naturally belonged there. Of course, I would feel a heck of a lot more guilt if our target had been something other than mosquitoes. There are three things that are hard for me to have compassion for: mosquitoes, ticks, and mice.
And speaking of mice...
This morning, Ed was gone early again and so I came down to a quiet house. Well, not exactly quiet. I hear that very specific cat meow. Anyone who has a cat who hunts knows what I mean. It announces to the world -- I have got myself a nice little toy to bring in for you to see and admire!
Meaning one of the cats has brought in a mouse.
Listen, you feline beast, you're supposed to remove them from the farmhouse, not bring them in!
As always, the cat lets go of the mouse so that he can play with it. This is what they do: they chase it around, they tap it to provoke flight, they chase it some more. Eventually they eat it, but first comes the play. Wait! I'm not stupid -- I know what can happen! The mouse is quite capable of outsmarting the cat! So I grab a jar to try to catch that mouse and now we have both me and two cats chasing that thing around until the inevitable happens -- the mouse finds a vent and gets inside and now he is gone, out of reach, au revoir! Somewhere in the system of vents, ready to pop out at some obscure time when we least expect it or want it.
Thanks a lot, cat!
Time to go out and snip lilies. Again, over 500. I lost count. Lots to show here, on Ocean. I consider Bastille Day (July 14) to be the peak of the lily season so I have my work out for me now. It takes close to two hours to sweep the fields clean of spent flowers.
Never mind, it's worth the effort. I think.
(lilly field by the porch)
(my Nymphs and Shepherds, 2024!)
(to the side of the farmhouse path)
(along the secret path)
(down the secret path, continued...)
(from the side of the Big Bed)
Breakfast? Alone again, naturally. (That's another song: Gilbert O'Sullivan, 1971. You can listen to it here. It is honestly one of the saddest songs ever, set to a bouncy tune that leaves your head spinning and wondering what's going on here?? The sixties and seventies were musically beautiful, campy, strange and emotionally intractable.) I bike over to Tati Co Cafe and pick up a croissant for the kids and a cinamon roll for me.
Alone now, but in heaven nonetheless. A good book, a few berries and the world's best peaches and that milky coffee with a cinnamon croissant roll.
I do some spot work in the garden, but not a lot. I'm tired still! Rebound is still a threat for me and I want to do everything I can to minimize its occurence. Soon after I drink my milky double espresso, I zonk out on the couch.
The kids are here in the afternoon. I hear some pleas for the pool. I can't blame them -- it's hot outside! But I'm not up for it yet. We settle for a quieter afternoon of books and play at the farmhouse. (But first, the photos, which are always against a backdrop of their choice.)
Evening. I drop the kids off and return, just around 6, when the light is so very mellow. Time to take out my new camera again. It finally has all the protective filters and screen covers on. (It's not that my other old camera is inferior... It's just clunky big!) Let me end with its one sweet shot of the farmhouse, its flower bed, in the honeyed light of a beautiful summer evening.
with love...
