Full Circle; Second Spring

It is not often I notice the moon setting even as dawn flushes the eastern sky and the sun rises.

Taken this morning a bit after 7 a.m.

The early peonies.

Redbud tree, also know as the Judas Tree.

[cercis canadensis.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cercis_canadensis]

I didn't notice a  visible tinge of pink yesterday, surely there was none on Saturday.

This was taken late on Monday afternoon.

The venerable century old pear coming into bloom.

There are more dead appearing branches than last spring, several stubby limbs that were broken by winter winds.

Part of the tree trunk is hollow.

From this deep cleft one can see daylight out the other side of the tree.

Having determined that this locally called "old-timey" pear is the Kieffer pear, an old variety resistant to fire blight and able to withstand the heat of southern summers, I found that several nurseries offer the Kieffer.

I have ordered two, on semi-dwarf rootstock.

We think that we will remove the two oldest apple trees at the north side of the yard and situate the pears in their place.

The old apple trees are badly overgrown and have not been pruned in many years.

Although they blossomed and set fruit last year,  fire blight ruined the crop.

Cutting a tree, especially something as homey and friendly as an apple tree, is a difficult decision.

The old pear tree, though battered and mis-shapen, blossoms for another spring.

A clump of violets near the clothesline.

Double daffodils.

The Charles Albanel rugosa came through a daunting and puny first season.

Hopefully with a little coaxing it will flourish this year.

The tardy tomato seedlings soaking up light and warmth in the south window of the garage.

A glowing sunset after a warm and lovely day.

Sally the tortoiseshell cat strolls along the driveway.

I had been weeding perennials on my creaky old knees for about an hour when I looked up and saw the beautiful colors.

Today marks a year since our arrival in Kentucky.

The trip had been a grueling three days from Wyoming through a blizzard of sleet and snow, over  roadways caked with ice.

We came in convoy: J. and I with the cats in the motor home, towing Pebbles in her horse trailer behind.

Our son drove the red Dodge diesel truck, pulling his big trailer loaded down with J.'s construction tools and oddments.  His cousin steered old Snort'n Nort'n through the storm, hauling the van which contained our household goods.

I still don't like to recall that trip.

We were tired before we left Wyoming on that Thursday afternoon and the storm gained on us by the hour.

We crossed the border into Kentucky late on Sunday morning and our weary spirits began to climb.

A gentle rain fell on green fields. Swaths of yellow daffodils spilled down  roadside ditches and bloomed against the edges of rain-darkened hardwoods.

One by one our bulky vehicles eased into the tight turn of the driveway, rolled under the sentinel redbud trees and lumbered into the back dooryard.

Home. 

It felt like we had come home.

Pebbles was led out of her trailer first thing and tethered  to a crabapple tree while an electric fenced enclosure was set up.

I carried the cats, one by one, into the house, crooning to them, holding them close inside my jacket.

The men uncoupled the red Dodge from the trailer and roared off to retrieve our car which we had left three weeks earlier in the dooryard of the man, J.M. from whom we bought our little farm.

He had been out to turn up the heat, so we entered a warm house.

As I ferried belongings from the motorhome to the house, a truck pulled in.

The man who stepped out and offered a firm handshake introduced himself and explained, "J.M. told me you all should be in sometime today, so I've kept a lookout for you. If you need he'p, I'm right next door."

J. returned with the car; our son and nephew followed with armloads of grocery bags from the nearby

Wal Mart: a rotisserie chicken, piping hot; tomatoes; bread; milk, eggs and fruit.  My son produced a box and presented it with a flourish.

"Here, Mom, a few days late for your birthday, you can call it a house-warming present."

A shiny red teakettle

Tea, my cats, a safe ending to a hard journey, a snug little house.

Finally home.