if it's Monday...

On the downside, we're not getting the rain. I foresee a week of dragging out the hose.

On the upside, it's just such a gorgeous day!

Let's take a peek at the garden first. These bells always look more like trumpets to me -- poised to announce their magnificence!






By 5:30, the cheepers are really anxious to be out. They peck at the wire door as if it should magically open for them. When I unlock the hatch, they lunge for the great outdoors, stretch their legs, dust off their feathers and immediately come back to me for a corn treat.






Meanwhile, back in the garden: Wait, have you forgotten about us? We're not done with our joyful bloom yet!






I see you, peonies. But I also see the dainty evening primrose in the bed that abuts the road. (The oenothera is not really a primrose, and it also blooms in the mornings, but nicknames stick and most people will say -- oh, what a gorgeous evening primrose!.)






We have a half leisurely breakfast on the porch.

[To the commenter who wonders about ants on our cut peonies -- the answer is "it depends." Most are free of ants by the time the blooms are fully open. We have, to my count, about a dozen peony bushes at the farmette and when they fall (and even when staked, they fall), it's time to cut them back and bring in the flowers. And to the commenter who tells the story of her son getting stung by a peony wasp -- yes, I see them on the buds as well. I will be very surprised if Snowdrop sails through her farmette days without some sting. Having myself spent childhood summers in the country, I know too well the sting of wasps and the tangled bee in my hair or, worse, the bare foot on a bed of clover where, inevitably, there will be the poor bee. But I haven't given up on bees or clover. Wasps -- well, if Ed wasn't around, I'd probably take a wack at them now and then.]






Breakfast is "half leisurely" because Ed and I have a meeting about protecting the endangered wetlands to the east of us.  I ride my rose-ah-roo and though it's not supposed to rain (see first paragraph), on my return I go through an unusual cloud pattern of gray mists of a faint shower against a blue sky. The farmers never even pause.






And because it's Monday, Snowdrop comes over to the farmette. Ah, there she is, walking up the path to the farmhouse. With the chickens, who are convinced she carries with her bread.






So of course, we must then bring them bread.


It's like this, cheepers...






I shall cast a spell on you!






And then you will do as I say!






We leave the cheepers  behind and head for greener pastures. Oh, how green it all is! It still boggles the mind that the world can be this transformed in such a short space of time.






I tell Snowdrop how cool it is to simply let yourself fall into the grass. Me, I would just lie there and take it all in, but Snowdrop loves the act of falling down and she does it again...






... and again.






And for the record, let it be noted here that she is the only one at the farmette who adores the purple flowers of a creeping charlie (an invasive that threatens to creep too much into nearly everything).






As I noted some time ago, she now also adores her red wagon. Grandma pulling her around in it? The best! Go, grandma, go!






I show her the first tomato!






And of course, we have to admire the vineyard! Look, Snowdrop, do you see the baby grapes?






Can we keep on going?






Let's return to the yellow house now, little one. Grandpa Ed just came up from his workshop in the sheep shed.






Yep, he's in the kitchen. Acrobatics!






Why she loves this is beyond me, but she does.






Eventually, they settle into a quieter game of ball. He bounces it to her and it flies between her arms and she laughs and laughs.






Ed is fixing himself a leftover lunch and so she must eat too (or else she'll snitch stuff off his plate and he will not protest). She keeps an eye on what he's up to:






And in the afternoon she and I run errands. We go to Paul's Cafe to get pickles (they're out of them, but I promised her a small treat and so we pause for one).






And we stop at the library where she spends a good bit of time studying the antics of others...





... before settling into a routine of picking out books for some hypothetical future read.


Tonight, I watch a documentary on the Normandy invasion of June 6, 1944. Yeah, images of the American Cemetery come back. How could they not...

peonies, success and Sunday

As Ed pounds another stake into the ground to create a second trellis for now our second row of grapes, he pauses, looks over his shoulder at the acre of prairie grasses and waist-high weeds and says -- someday that will be all buckwheat. Bees will come and the groundhog will have his share...






(He's referring to our experiment this year with sowing buckwheat. Here he is, studying the land to see if there are any sprouts yet...)


 



And, too, he's talking about the groundhog family that lives in our wood pile. They recently had a few babies and today we spotted a brave little soul venturing out into the field.)











To some people, success means a large house, a nice car and maybe a place by the beach for a winter getaway. To Ed, none of that matters. I truly believe that if we succeeded in planting the fallow land with blooming buckwheat, he would ask no more of life.


(The grapes are looking so good right now! We planted six new vines today and honestly, it is one of the prettiest things you can put into your garden. So much so that I wonder why more people don't grow grapes.)






The day begins with an imposing cloud cover.






I thought that perhaps I should catch a few flower photos early on. Might it rain today? (That would be wishful thinking: young plantings need water. It's rain, or stand over tomatoes with a hose.)

So what's catching my eye in the garden? Well, the annuals in the pots are the big spark of color by the path to the farmhouse.






But honestly, we're still riding the wave of peonies. Theirs is a mighty show that carries us through the early days of June.

(Peonies, inside and out).






Once they're done, the garden rests (with a few exceptions). The next big show isn't until the end of June when the day lilies begin to take charge. But for now, I am just in awe of all that peonies bring to the farmette.






Okay okay okay! There are other blooming plants that deserve my attention.











(Ah, the ever adorable Java, trampling over my flowers. Let it not be said that I am not tolerant!)






Yet, a peony is so extravagant, so full of color, that you can't help but notice her whenever she is in the mix.






Breakfast (yes, with peonies)...






(We always have company for our morning meal. Do you see Butter? The cheepers hover just outside the screen, typically doing their morning cleaning under the sweeping branches of --you guessed it, peonies.)






A wonderfully protracted meal. We could sit like this for a long while, but we do have the grapes to plant (see notes above).

(It's a day for all gardeners and farmers to put in solid hours of work. These guys work the fields just to the north of us.)






(It's also a terrific day to sit on the porch and sip a macchiato. I do both: work then sip.)






And here's an important reminder: it's Sunday. The young family comes to the farmhouse for dinner. On the porch. With peonies!






Snowdrop is joyous and eager to play/read/eat/walk -- in other words, do it all!











Supper is spaghetti primavera -- a great dish to serve in June, when all spring vegetables are there for you to cook up and throw into the pasta. Snowdrop approves.






The evening on the porch is lovely...






... but of course, the little girl wants to be out. And free.






Her parents walk the land with her. She leads them to all corners of the farmette...






She remembers which flowers are okay to pick... (thank you, Snowdrop!)








Day is done. Time for Snowdrop to go home.





See you tomorrow, little one. Sweet dreams, of chickens and flowers and silly things!