Tessa,
The dog is on his back, attacking the sky. Yesterday was 100 degrees and last night a storm ripped through with 50 mph gusts of wind, but today is bright and clear. You are walking the length of the garden with your arms crossed, saying "Hmm" to the plants, the way a teacher walks the rows of a classroom. I am sitting in an Adirondack, sipping tea and moving left every four minutes to stay in the shade.
I found this photo of the yard when we got here:
The dead grass is accented by the pile of I-don't-even-know-what. Things look better this morning.
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| The Rug Really Ties the Yard Together |
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| Some Kind of Lily |
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| Magnus, Forever Thirsty |
Here's the garden we just put in on the right side of that top shot. Having a garden makes you feel productive, long, long after you've stopped production. All you did was put plants in the ground; sun and soil took care of the rest. But you get the notion that you're coaxing life of the earth, even if you're just sitting there, drinking tea and typing.
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| Cabbage |
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The heat is starting again. 6 months of winter makes you promise yourself that you'll never leave the yard, just as soon as it thaws and we can all feel our fingers again. Then the first 90 degree day makes a liar out of you.
