It was a brutal hour of bugs and rain. Cursing under my breath (and sometimes not under my breath), I wondered how I could continue to love my flowers and care for them in such an inhospitable environment. The rains have sprouted a new set of weeds, too. I should be pulling out those today, but I can barely get through the lily snipping (385 today). The mosquitoes are at their worst.
I had purchased a non-DEET bug spray with rave reviews. "We live in a place full of mosquitoes and this spray offered total protection!" -- those kinds of accolades. I don't know what mosquito world they live in, but it's not ours. Our bugs buzzed around me as if I came with an invitation to attack and conquer. Long pants and a sweatshirt (despite the muggy air and occasional drizzle) gave them a tougher path to reach me, but reach me they did. After all, there were always my face, my fingers, my ankles. Long socks next time. (I hate using netting over my head. May as well put prison bars between me and my flowers.)
I did take some flower photos. I suffered for it, but beauty always survives at times of pain. I can't say they are original or well crafted but I like them anyway!
(reminds me of little girls in ballet tutus)
(froggie, I don't want to put pressure on you, but please, start hunting down those damn bugs!)
(a great big beautiful smile!)
(hey, no frowns allowed!)
(we always use the back door: a brick path leads to it)
(to one side of the brick path)
(to the other side: my first lily field, which isn't just about lilies anymore)
(the Big Bed: some day I'll measure it's length)
(the plantings viewed from the porch are important: they get the most attention)
And by 9 am, I'm done with all morning chores and am on the Capitol Square, meeting my friend who is in town once again. This visit of hers is memorable because it's one of her last. With deaths in her family closing some doors and opening others, her trips here will be limited. Basically I will have to travel more to see my friends, because some will never come (you know who you are!), and the rest will come maybe once a year. Not nearly enough for me, especially when we are all in our 70s.
For now, I listen to details of her life and throw in a few of my own over our usual coffee at Wonderstate.
At home again, Ed asks if I want to go for a walk, but my head is still buzzing from the sound of early morning mosquitoes. I cannot venture out into bug-o-rama territory. But he persists: we can turn back if it's really buggy. I hesitate. You can ride Rosie over to the park. The rain has stopped, the clouds are moving to bother someone elsewhere... Fine, let's go.
It is a little buggy and we almost turn back. But at the second we decide to turn around, the wind picks up -- just enough to allow us to go forward after all. And the fields of prairie stretch before us and it is in fact very beautiful!
The thing is, I've missed our walks. They're quiet. They're strengthening. They're perfect.
And of course, taking Rosie out on a summer evening is awesome.
And speaking of rosy, but with a "y," how about these babes back home? Yes, it is lily season here at the farmette!
with love....
