It’s early Friday morning. The smoke we were under has dissipated and the sky is clear; we’re in for a great day. Makiya doesn’t have school today and it feels a bit like Saturday. Funny how one small change in routine creates such ripples. I’m tired. Bone weary tired. I feel it in my body
Gerry slips out early, and brings back coffee and breakfast sandwiches which we enjoy while planning the day. I propose a trip to a small vendor and garden show (which ultimately takes us farther down the road to a pottery sale). He is eager to get back to installing our rain barrel but agrees to
After a busy morning out and about that included a trip to Costco because I wanted to get some pretty fall mums (of course, we came away with more than two pots of flowers), we settle in at home. Gerry heads downstairs to check his hiking schedule and make plans, Makiya reaches for my MacBook
I’m sitting here listening to the sweet sound of rain. RAIN! At long last! The heavy weight of fire season is still with us but with many alerts and orders being rescinded and fires being brought under control, there is an easing of the burden. Skies, though not completely smoke free, are clear enough to
Whoever described summer days as “lazy” wasn’t a gardener. I am, and this time of year is far from lazy around here. Yesterday, after an early trip to the garden to water, weed, and harvest, I spent the rest of the morning washing, chopping, and bagging while I sent Gerry out to foist some cucumbers
Another week has flown by—the last one before summer officially arrives. Taking time, this morning, to look back and be thankful for small, simple things with Friday’s Fave Five. Watering flowers. Every morning, I fill watering can after watering can with water in the sink in the laundry room, and go outside to water pots
I started keeping fresh flowers on the table last March when we started experiencing life through a COVID filter. Daffodils, tulips, roses, lilies, lilacs, peonies, lavender and many more that I don’t know the name of have taken a place of honour in the middle of the table. The varieties and colours change with the
For a time I watched the moon. Rising, as is my practice, in the wee hours, I stood at the window on a succession of days when the night sky was clear, and grounded myself in its movement and crescent shape that was thinner every day. The cacophony of the world at large, silent. The
I must have known it at some point but the knowledge that the sun rises due east on only the spring and fall equinoxes and that now, as we approach the summer solstice it’s more northeast, faded. Watching the sun rise over the hill on the other side of the ridge this morning confuses me.
“Are you ready for church?” I call downstairs. ”Yup. Be right there,” Gerry calls back. And like we’ve done every Sunday for the past ten weeks, we gather in the den where I work some magic to get my phone display to broadcast on the big screen TV and we have church. Afterward, we talk
I carry baby tomato plants in a small box on my lap while Gerry drives to the community garden. My hands brush across their leaves. The scent of hope wafts from them. The plants have been growing in my laundry room since I dropped tiny seeds into pots in early April, unmotivated, with barely enough