April Review

First strawberries from the commercial berry farm. 

I follow them on Facebook so that we can decide when to drive to the farm stand half an hour away. The stand opens about 8 a.m. and the berries quickly sell out. 

There was heavy rain on Tuesday [29th] evening and when I awoke Wednesday around 6 a.m. the meadow below the house was thick with fog. 

I considered getting out of bed, but there seemed no good reason, so I curled up with Rosie-cat under my arm. I was jolted awake later--that feeling that someone is looming nearby--I focused blearily on Jim who was demanding to know if I intended to go after berries.

I fumbled into yesterday's clothes, poured my half cup of morning coffee into a travel mug and stumbled out the door. 

Its a pretty drive of winding rural roads, past farms, crossroads churches and then a short distance on a main highway.

I felt anxious that we would be too late, but we wheeled in while there were still a few gallon buckets left on the wagon.

I set our bucketful on the console between us, carefully selecting and hulling berries one at a time--one for Jim, one for me. 

We detoured to take in the South Fork shops on the way home, stopping also to see if J's Troy Bilt tiller had been repaired. [Still waiting as the decision was made for a replacement engine]

I wandered happily about in my favorite garden center, spending my birthday gift certificate for two sturdy planting tubs. 

Howard is working on a job out of state so we drove to his place to check on his cats. Two of them were happy to see us--two, predictably, hid as though we might be dangerous intruders.

On to the nearby huge sprawl of greenhouses at Sunny Day where we encountered Mary, one of our Amish neighbors when we lived at the farm. 

I collected more plants for my tubs to go with those donated by Matt and Gina from their latest auction haul.

Finally I have two pots of calendulas!  Every spring I poke seed into trays, every spring I have to buy calendulas. I will undoubtedly buy seed and try again next year.

Nursery tomatoes and peppers earlier potted on and nurtured in my small greenhouse are ready to go into the garden. Two tomato varieties new to me, from Southern Seed Exchange have germinated quickly in plastic packs, likewise bush cucumbers and melons.

Jim has replanted his corn, grumbling that it didn't germinate, while I try not to smugly retort 'I told you the ground was too cold!" 

I finished the essay I was asked to write concerning my attendance at the Young School, the last one-room school in my home town to be closed. 

I began this project by clipping news items re the school, its teachers and pupils from 1920 through its closure in 1960. I used my subscription to newspapers.com for this. Not surprisingly for every 'hit' about the school I had to read the entire column of 'news notes' relating the joys and sorrows, the outings and tasks of the neighborhood. 

As I wrote I felt that my effort was taking on a tone of nostalgia, and yet--what else could it be with looking back so many years! My essay wound up at 11 pages, a highly personal look at the years of my education process.

I had some idea of sharing the writing here  in serial fashion, but perhaps not an idea that could work well.

My current writing project involves a diary kept in 1904 by a woman who lived her entire life in my home town. I've had the diary for perhaps 20 years, had read it previously. I feel it should be returned to the place from which it came, but with notes to identify the families and relationships mentioned. 

I admit to a [weird?] propensity for perusing old documents, census and vital records, peering at vintage maps while attempting to mentally recreate the town as it was more than a century ago. 

The names of these long-dead folks trip through my wakeful mind in the wee hours, their 'stories' more interesting to me than a novel. 

As a child I loved to listen to the tales of older people. I was 'the little mouse in the corner' gathering and storing up the memory crumbs of another generation--and to what good purpose?

As my grandson fondly remarked a while back, 'Meme, when you die, a lot of useless information will go with you!'

As I finish this April diary, the green darkness of rumbling thunder and spattering rain has moved in; the sage bush by the front steps, heavily in bloom, has splayed its branches beneath the onslaught. The small flowering plants tucked into the tubs yesterday are thus far holding up.

There is yet another hapless bird scrabbling in the stove pipe.

The temperature has plunged by 10 degrees and I think a mug of tea would be welcome.

Garden Sage

Duchess of Edinburgh

I noticed that the date and time setting on the camera had reverted to December.

I'm using a different Canon 'point and shoot'--one that Howard brought to me, discovered when he was sorting things. My older camera still takes the usual quality of photos but the contact point for the lead cable is worn and it has been an ongoing battle to transfer photos to the PC.

Pinks along the west retaining wall

May Apple

Spiderwort in the shady edge of the south ravine