This dooryard view was taken Saturday morning and published in the photo section of our local online magazine.
It was a day of fiercely blue skies, the sun's warmth countered by brisk winds.
After lunch I pulled a chair into the most sheltered corner of the porch/carport and sat dreaming with a book of English cottage gardens open on my lap. When the breeze ruffled the pages I simply let my eyes roam over green grass, delicate new leaves and the sun-shimmered view of the Big Creek Valley.
I was outside on Sunday morning in time to hear the hoofbeats of one of the Amish horses pulling a family carriage along the road to meeting. Pebbles gets very excited whenever a buggy goes by, trumpeting to the passing horse and dashing around her pasture.
This brilliant male cardinal was singing boisterously at the top of a dooryard maple.
The day was a "weather-breeder"--gusty winds that snapped the wash on the line, cloud shadows rushing overhead. The cats were in a frenzy all day, dashing in and out of the open sliding door, zipping around their fenced play yard, swatting at each other, bristling at things the humans can't see.
I busied myself in the garage potting on tomato seedlings while J. contrived a cold frame from some salvaged windows. Willis was most helpful and continually under foot. He dispatched a sizable grey rat which he left in the flower bed along-side the garage. I scooped it up using a bit of paper towel in my gloved hand, and cremated it in the fireplace.
The cold frame taking shape. The glass is so heavy it may have to be J. who will open it each morning.
Storm watch was posted warning of high winds, localized hail and thunderstorms.
By Sunday evening the light had that strange green tinge which prophecies storm.
I got more weeding done in the main perennial strip. There are bare spots where plants failed last summer to flourish. Several of them, delphiniums, Lady's mantle, digitalis--apparently don't like as much heat and humidity as last season provided. My new book on southern gardening will be a help as I decide what to plant---though so much of gardening anywhere is experimental.
Who would think that a space 6 x 10 ft could have so much dirt to be removed before the landscape fabric can be put down.
I got this much done in the evening twilight, hobbled indoors and declared my intention to hire Joseph to help me finish--when we've dried out again from today's heavy rain.
The brooding evening sky. There were three jet trails--this one overhead and two along the western horizon.
I moved all the catnip plants in the rectangle of garden I'm re-working.
Unwilling to throw out the fresh green tops, I collected them in a basket which has been of great interest to several of the cats. Here Mrs. Beasley reclines in a drugged state.
Monday morning before the rain and wind came on.
The air was humid and heavy, the birds were hiding, all was an expectant hush.
The tomato plants safely in the cold frame along with two big pots planted to muskmelon.
The leaden skies couldn't dull the beauty of the crab apple and the redbud.
When the rain and wind broke in mid-afternoon our world turned dark as dusk.
Branches thrashed, rain pummeled.
I sat by the east window with a book and two cats on my lap.
In little more than half an hour the fury had passed.