Sunday, March 13th brought us grey skies, drizzling rain and the upset of daylight saving time.
The cats have adjusted more gracefully than we have to changing the clocks--they are happy that I am apparently downstairs an hour earlier.
They have also been demanding their 'tea' without regard to the clock.
It will take us all a few weeks to settle in.
With rain expected to be with us all day, I put on boots and heavy jacket to deal with litter boxes and once outside decided to take a walk.
I had been out and back into the basement once before I noticed this small creature pasted to the glass of the door. I fetched my camera and took this inside shot which makes him appear as if attached to the porch roof.
The 'tree frog' from outside, splayed against the misty glass.
My late mother-in-law called these 'rain crows'--perhaps a New England appellation.
I walked through the mist and approached the big pond at the edge of the meadow.
Across the width of the pond I spied a flock of wild turkeys.
I crept along the hedgerow, sheltering my camera beneath my jacket.
Predictably, the turkeys burst into straggling flight just as I came round the hedge.
They flew across the meadow and landed at the edge of the creek, scuttled off in the grey mist.
I plodded back, squelching through standing water, intrigued by the raindrops clinging to winter-worn stalks along the fence.
By the time I gained the road my jeans felt damp, wet strands of hair had escaped from my hood.
It was time to go inside, find dry clothes, make a mug of tea.
There have been sunny days--time to poke about in the dooryard.
The special orange daylilies have expanded in their space by the side steps.
Willis materializes as I twitch out a few weeds from the clumps of lemon thyme.
"Something" has scuttled into the crack beneath the steps, I think a large spider sort of thing.
Willis tends to lurk wherever one of us is working, supervising.
Jim, his shoulder mending well, borrowed a rig from a friend to haul home the bulldozer he intends to renovate.
Supposedly this hulk of machinery has great potential.
I am waiting to be impressed.
In order to work on the machine in comfort, an overhead door needs to be installed in the shop
This meant taking down an outside staircase that led to the attic, removing a 'man door,' taking out part of the wall and bashing out concrete.
It didn't seem like a moderate return to activity for someone who had nursed two displaced vertebrae for over a month!
Newly planed boards--from trees harvested on the property--are becoming framing for the new door.
Willis has been deprived of the outside staircase which served him as a handy vantage point.
He must now supervise from the splintery 'bed' of an old utility trailer.
I haven't many visible accomplishments for the past two weeks.
The baby quilt has been finished and delivered.
I have visited the goats next door.
This baby was only two hours old.
I was allowed to hold her after she was cleaned and fed.
I stood with her folded in my arms, instinctively rocking her gently.
I felt her relax, going softly limp. Her long-lashed eyes closed and she settled to sleep, almost sliding from my arms in complete and contented exhaustion after the business of being born.
It has been too wet to kneel in the garden, but standing outside the retaining timbers I could reach in to tweak out a few weeds and stir the soil around emerging plants.
I had 'help'--of course.
A few days of warm sunshine has encouraged the perennials--as well as the weeds.
I have practiced music for church;
I've made food to share with neighbors;
I've kept Jim company on errands.
I pruned the butterfly bush and the clump of catnip--again with helpful companionship.
Small domestic putterings, indoors and out, more hours of genealogy, names and dates running through my head.
And so the days have passed, quietly and un-remarkably--except that every new day is one to be treasured.