The pattern of each day doesn't change. And again I am writing far too late into the night. That's not the best time to transcribe thoughts into text. But, there was much to be done on this last day of the week! The hours ran away with the moon.
The skies are gray and I am glad. We need rain, or else I'll have to scramble to find even more hours for watering the garden. For now, I ignore the hose and concentrate on deadheading spent lilies. It's an art, this snipping off a depleted flower. If you falter, you'll get your hands and clothing into the soppy mess of their not yet dried up juices, dusted over with the pollen from the protruding stamen. If you snip too hard, you'll take away the remaining buds.
But, oh, I do love my Hemerocallis (let's get proper here)!
When I'll be returning from my travels in a couple of weeks, most of the lilies will be past their blooming stage. And so forgive me if I indulge myself now. These are the colors I think about in the dead of winter.
During the summer, I need only glance out the kitchen window and they're before me, filling each bed with their magnificence. They are a gardener's beloveds.
Okay, let's settle in for a good breakfast. Ed and Isis (who has ventured outside this morning) are waiting.
Ah, breakfast. Always such a grand moment. We talk about the porch steps that will be built (I am hopeful!) in the next couple of weeks. The design has gone this way and that, but I think Ed is finally satisfied with one that uses mostly materials we have around the farmette and, too (for some reason this is very important to him), one that allows for light to stream into the basement from the window that is unfortunately going to be mostly covered over by the steps (think: transparent slats of a poly something or other).
And then Ed goes off to work and I go off to grocery shop. We are like two prongs of trail that suddenly splits, only to reunite toward the end of the day.
In the afternoon, there is the lovely, the affable, the ever energetic Snowdrop.
But as I settle in to play with her...
... I have a nagging thought that I forgot something at the grocery store. Chicken for Sunday dinner! Darn! (No, just scratch that thought -- I'm not sacrificing one of the cheepers for our meal.) I have no time in the next days to shop. There's no choice but to take Snowdrop to the grocery store now.
She has been to the supermarket with me and not too long ago at that. But this time, for the first time, I take her out of her safe and familiar car seat and plunk her like a big girl, right into the cart.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that she is not happy. I try bribing her with a toy off the rack and for a little while it works.
But for a good part of the shopping trip, I hold her and push the cart with my other hand, leading a very sweet older woman to ask me -- do you need help?
Ha! No indeed! I seem capable of doing everything with a seven month old on my arm! But the woman's friendliness is, in fact, a game changer for Snowdrop who thinks that her smile is worth a million and as if on cue, she relaxes and grins back.
Errand done, we return to Snowdrop's home. The little one is especially happy to be back again, in her exersaucer -- reminding us all that the journey may be fantastic, but the return home is even better.
Okay, sweet one, but we must take you out of your comfort zone and move along with the introduction of solid foods. How about that banana mush again?
Perhaps you cannot tell from the photo, but she is relaxing a bit today! It's as if she understands that this, too, is mealtime. That something else must be accomplished beyond a grab and a smear of the food. She tries to figure out what is expected of her. I swear she takes in at least three spoonfuls!
In the evening, we have a social hour -- I join Snowdrop, her mom, and her mom's friend for a summer wine tasting at a wine shop on the Capitol Square.
(photo by friend)
A full day indeed. Supper at the farmhouse is as late as I dare push it. And after? Oh, sleep! I'm as spent as a Snowdrop would be on a warm July night.
The skies are gray and I am glad. We need rain, or else I'll have to scramble to find even more hours for watering the garden. For now, I ignore the hose and concentrate on deadheading spent lilies. It's an art, this snipping off a depleted flower. If you falter, you'll get your hands and clothing into the soppy mess of their not yet dried up juices, dusted over with the pollen from the protruding stamen. If you snip too hard, you'll take away the remaining buds.
But, oh, I do love my Hemerocallis (let's get proper here)!
When I'll be returning from my travels in a couple of weeks, most of the lilies will be past their blooming stage. And so forgive me if I indulge myself now. These are the colors I think about in the dead of winter.
During the summer, I need only glance out the kitchen window and they're before me, filling each bed with their magnificence. They are a gardener's beloveds.
Okay, let's settle in for a good breakfast. Ed and Isis (who has ventured outside this morning) are waiting.
Ah, breakfast. Always such a grand moment. We talk about the porch steps that will be built (I am hopeful!) in the next couple of weeks. The design has gone this way and that, but I think Ed is finally satisfied with one that uses mostly materials we have around the farmette and, too (for some reason this is very important to him), one that allows for light to stream into the basement from the window that is unfortunately going to be mostly covered over by the steps (think: transparent slats of a poly something or other).
And then Ed goes off to work and I go off to grocery shop. We are like two prongs of trail that suddenly splits, only to reunite toward the end of the day.
In the afternoon, there is the lovely, the affable, the ever energetic Snowdrop.
But as I settle in to play with her...
... I have a nagging thought that I forgot something at the grocery store. Chicken for Sunday dinner! Darn! (No, just scratch that thought -- I'm not sacrificing one of the cheepers for our meal.) I have no time in the next days to shop. There's no choice but to take Snowdrop to the grocery store now.
She has been to the supermarket with me and not too long ago at that. But this time, for the first time, I take her out of her safe and familiar car seat and plunk her like a big girl, right into the cart.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that she is not happy. I try bribing her with a toy off the rack and for a little while it works.
But for a good part of the shopping trip, I hold her and push the cart with my other hand, leading a very sweet older woman to ask me -- do you need help?
Ha! No indeed! I seem capable of doing everything with a seven month old on my arm! But the woman's friendliness is, in fact, a game changer for Snowdrop who thinks that her smile is worth a million and as if on cue, she relaxes and grins back.
Errand done, we return to Snowdrop's home. The little one is especially happy to be back again, in her exersaucer -- reminding us all that the journey may be fantastic, but the return home is even better.
Okay, sweet one, but we must take you out of your comfort zone and move along with the introduction of solid foods. How about that banana mush again?
Perhaps you cannot tell from the photo, but she is relaxing a bit today! It's as if she understands that this, too, is mealtime. That something else must be accomplished beyond a grab and a smear of the food. She tries to figure out what is expected of her. I swear she takes in at least three spoonfuls!
In the evening, we have a social hour -- I join Snowdrop, her mom, and her mom's friend for a summer wine tasting at a wine shop on the Capitol Square.
(photo by friend)
A full day indeed. Supper at the farmhouse is as late as I dare push it. And after? Oh, sleep! I'm as spent as a Snowdrop would be on a warm July night.
