hot Friday

It was not so hot when I went out at 6 to let the cheepers out and to plant a few more flowers. I wore my fleece.

Still, the promise of a warm day lead me to take our breakfast outside onto the porch.
You sure? Ed asks...
Yes, it's so good to look out on the yard!






And it is. Though there is a downside to sitting out in such close proximity to the flower fields. The cheepers hear us and they very much want to be close to wherever we are. (Here they are, rushing toward our voices.)






They don't seem to mind that they can't actually be on the porch. They work the soil close by and I have to endure watching their claws scratch at the roots of my plants. Ed reminds me that the actual damage is insignificant. But I think that's because I do a lot of damage control after they've barrelled through the yard.  Ah well... on balance there is more benefit (the fertilizing, the bug control, the joy of watching them be free and productive and yes, happy).

And what's blooming at the farmette? Well, this morning, before the heat wave, I have the usual suspects.






Much of the color is in the potted annuals.






Though as you can see, not only there.

I have for you a chicken's perspective on one of the beds. I'm cleaning up some of the pots, the cheepers, as always, are keeping me company.






And in the late afternoon, Snowdrop comes over.






It is by now so warm that I feel we should feast outside and picnic on the grass! I have picnic stuff ready. Off we go in the wagon (which she now loves!).






In the young fruit orchard, we spread out her baby quilt, lay out a tea towel and arrange the foods. They're not complicated -- it's just an afternoon snack after all. But we have that joy of eating outside, on the ground...






I tell her that if she looks up, she can see the expanse of the willow against a deep blue sky.






We smell the white lilacs, spin around the property in the wagon and eventually return home, where grandpa Ed makes sure she has her upside down moment.






In the evening, there is dinner. She loves corn on the cob!






And she loves salmon and really, all the veggies and fruits known to us.

After, we play.





And we walk outside then again and the whiff of the lilac is so strong that I tell Snowdrop to just stand still and inhale deeply.

It is a fitting way to end a day.

Thursday

The weather is perfect. There may be detractors ("too sunny!") and there may be gardeners who will shake their heads and say it's too cool in the morning, and there will be the occasional killjoy who'll remind us that it will not last. Me, I just think it's gorgeous. No qualifications, no worries about tomorrow. We have a perfect day now.

I'm up at at 6. It's easy to be out at this hour. The light, oh that early morning light!


















I do a few small things in the yard, but not much. I'm waiting for the warmer hours.

At breakfast, in the sun room...






... I groan about the fact that one must schedule dental check ups before one knows the weather for that day. Ah well. It's in the morning. I can be out digging, moving and planting by noon.

The air warms, the crab apple explodes into full bloom






No, I'm not with Snowdrop today. Her parents have a house guest and so schedules are reshuffled and my hours with the little one are reduced.


And what's blooming (if I can take my eyes off the flowers of the crab apple)? Lets go back to the handful of tulips...






Though honestly, today's loveliness cannot be measured by counting blooms. It's the greening of the land that's so thrilling.

Ed comes out every now and then to help...






(or to pet a chicken...)






And it's evening all too quickly. Time to put down the tools and think about tomorrow's tasks.






We catch the last bits of sun from behind the willow...





...and retreat inside. Tired, very very tired, but in that fine way that comes after a day of doing work you love.

Wednesday!

What a day! Sure, cool for May. But what a day!






Remember January? Well now!






So much loveliness it hurts!






In the sun room.





And then to Snowdrop's home.

And from the beginning -- please! here are your shoes, grandma, please!






Later.
Then can we play ball?
Sure, Snowdrop.






That smile comes so easily to her...






Finally, the walk.

(In the neighborhood.)






(So playful!)






And in the afternoon, I do the big push to fill the new front flower field. Ed catches me in the act of stomping, studying, selecting and finally -- digging and planting.





This is my day. Beautiful.

stuck in a song

It is not a day of new tasks or novel ideas or pursuits. I am, in fact, stuck in a pattern that may well continue for the next ten grand weather days (if they continue to be grand weather days). It's like a song that I have in my head -- hum one bar and you'll recognize the rest of the tune because you've heard it so often before. But it's no less pretty, just because it's familiar.

Here we go -- my lovely May song.

The old pear, in the early morning light:






I have another dig and divide project. I pick up the shovel right after letting the cheepers out. Scotch follows, watches, and gets the worms. She's very good at it. So is Butter. The new girls are still learning.






The crab is at its finest, I think. Opening buds. A canvas of color.






Still early. Buckets of composted soil, spades, flower pots, cart for toting chips.






What else is blooming?






Even the plants that aren't yet close to their flowering stage are looking grand in the dewy morning light.






To the north of us, the truck farmers are working long hours.






This is when the hens take turn laying. Henny's done. Out for a stroll now.






Breakfast on the porch. We're both eating, while the cheepers do their morning cleaning routines just at the other side of the screen.






Ed had promised to come with me for a quick trip to the Flower Factory to pick up a few plants that are not day lilies (for the ever expanding front bed). Their displays always look lovely along the colorful fences by the greenhouses.






Going there and coming back, we avoid the highway and stick to our favorite country roads. There are rewards to taking a longer route!






We pass a small greenhouse called Natalie's. Only annuals. We don't need annuals, but I tell Ed we should at least pick up one tiny flat of something to support this small grower.
You never plant marigolds... he mutters.
Alright. Let's get some for you. I'll put them in by the path to the sheep shed.






In the afternoon and early evening, I am with Snowdrop. I bring her to the farmhouse, thinking I can get some planting done during her nap. Well, that doesn't happen. Phone calls to return, emails to write. Still, it's terrific to have her here.






What's that buzzing by?
One of the many lovely bugs that share the gardens with us...






If ever there was a bucolic canvas...






She continues her conversation with the cheepers. They listen attentively.






Lunch, nap, wake up. Oh, how beautiful are her smiles after a solid rest!






Toward evening, I tell her we'll be making pizza again. It's such a good dish to make with a child!

She's giving directions.






She's not sure I got everything right...






I tell her she can go chill while the pizza bakes. She happily loses herself in her books at her table.






And then it's dinnertime and she is a most rewarding guest...






And poof! -- the day is done.

See? Not much was different. A rerun of the most beautiful melodies. Nothing more, nothing less.