Despite the drought, the yard is still producing a bounty of flowers. Here’s a little peek at what’s blooming right now: Purple coneflowers–so reliable and easy The chestnut rose. This heirloom is pretty even when it isn’t blooming. It’s so dense and shrubby, a …
The coreopsis is blooming. So are the irises. Here are a few things I did this weekend: Ate cherry jelly beans for breakfast Planted five Dixie wood ferns Planted 12 Clemson Spineless okra Transplanted a bunch of purple coneflowers to the bed by the barn …
On Saturday Chip had a tea party under the Chinese chestnut. He enjoyed some fine refreshments–invisible lemon coolers and Victoria sponge cake. The tea was air. His guests included hummingbirds and butterflies, and an inchworm stopped by.
For lunch last Sunday, we made our favorites, Thai Tofu Burritos, but this time we improved them by adding some homegrown sweet potatoes to the filling. I’ve included the revised recipe below, along with our recipe for purple cabbage slaw, which is what we always …
This weekend we started redecorating our breezeway, attempting to turn it into a cozy open-air living room. We took everything out and washed the walls and the floor with buckets of warm soapy water. Then we drove up to Thomasville in search of some sort …
The view from the pond garden on Saturday morning
This weekend I was so happy because it rained! It finally rained–on Friday and Saturday! Afterward, the yard was so beautiful and green, quenched. The box turtles came out, and the frogs sang.
“This is how things ought to look,” I said to Rob.
The coreopsis were blooming; they look so cheery, like the little suns that kids draw with crayons. And the front-yard fence was burdened with roses–Rev d’Or and Marie Van Houtte.
Rob and I hung up two new birdhouses just up the hill from the pond, and I weeded the huge, sprawling bed along North Adams Street. I’m really into the idea of “editing” my gardens right now. I don’t want the woodland sunflowers to take over everything; I don’t want the mountainmint to choke out my heirloom roses. On Saturday afternoon I pulled up hundreds of camphor seedlings.
I always know what to do at home, what needs to be done; I’m so certain. But out in the world I’m beset by doubts and confusion. So the weekends are always extra precious to me. It’s so great to stride about with authority, pulling camphors and planting Southern wood ferns and knowing that what I’m doing is exactly right.
Carl! He is definitely one of the reasons I love being at home so much.
Serious cuteness
My typical weekend facial expression
Rob and I spent Saturday doing two things: weeding all the beds and mulching a new bed on the south side of the front yard. To me it was a good day because I got to daydream and visit with various cats …
Sometimes when I get discouraged, it helps to look back at old pictures. They remind me of how far we’ve come with this house and yard. February 2008 March 2012
Wild white indigo in the meadow
Saturday was such a golden day, the oaks sporting new soft golden leaves and the front porch rockers wearing coats of golden pollen. Rob and I got to be outside in all the gold, all day. We mowed our lawn of weeds for the first time this year, and edged and ran the weedeater. These chores stretched on from early morning to late afternoon. I kept complaining about edging (because edging is my job and I never think Rob understands its rigors). I was saying, “Running the edging machine is nothing; that’s easy. The hard part is crawling around for hours afterward, pulling up all the grass and weeds that have crept into the beds.” I kept talking about how sore my wrists were. I was being very melodramatic.
The best parts of the day were when we took little breaks. We made limeade and had lunch at our Quincy Burger King, where they were celebrating St. Patrick’s Day with emerald-green ketchup. In the afternoon, when we came in the house for a minute to have some peanuts, the cats gathered around to smell all the “interesting” smells on our clothes.
“Nothing makes you feel stinkier than ten cats gathered around smelling you,” Rob said.
The cats were crawling all over us, very intent on their smelling; they seemed to regard it as very important work–scientific research.
“All right, smellers,” I said, rolling my eyes. “That’s enough smelling.”
And I went outside and filled all our sad, empty porch pots with lush, fat ferns, petunias (pale pink and lavender), and fancy pink caladiums. Rob painted the front porch steps, and I weeded until it got dark.
The vegetable garden in soft focus
Frankie loves to sit on Rob’s knee.
Frankie looking poetic
Sweet little Babs. I love how she has her paws crossed.