Waking Up

It is really happening.  My days are spent outside tending gardens and lawn.  I scratched four rows into the home garden this morning, two each for dill and cilantro.  In a few weeks I’ll add the basil seedlings from the basement and maybe a few parsley seeds and call it good.  A row of lettuce and the balance herbs.  The stuff I want at hand.

The bleeding heart is bleeding.

Why so complicated?  How?

Frida is resting on her dried grass, tasting boogers.

Her leg hair is still spiky from a stroll in the pond.  This picture is for Lacey, for whom spiky dog hair is about the cutest thing in the world.

The water is on at the community garden.  Only two trips portaging water, then.  I am happy.  The kale is happy, too, although I suspect for other reasons.

The oregano is robust.  The gap in the front is my doing.  I am a ruthless barber.  I think I will carry this potted beauty home.  Better closer to my door.

Garlic is inching upward.  Last years harvest was shared with my gardening partner.  This year it is all mine.  Hear moah-ahh-ahh and see a pantomime of hand washing here.  How was that popularized as a symbol of sinister intent, by the way?

Even a clump of volunteer garlic that I tried to eradicate last fall is back in action.  I am glad I wasn’t successful.  The green garlic and oil sauce I made with the first pull of the stuff was heavenly.

ANT Light Roadster is still quietly blowing my mind.  The seat gets a bonnet when rain threatens and then it stays on, needlessly, for days.

The hifi is warming up to present to the room three new to us Wilco LPs.  The needle just dropped on song one.  I must be high.  The day is looking pretty good just now.

Who really needs woven cucumber anyway?  Simple pleasures, I say.  Happy Friday to you.  Must… make… espresso…

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