We are nearly as wilted by the heat as this basket of weeds which we removed from the pasture Tuesday morning. Although J. has "bush-hogged" the acreage, he decided we should spot weed the toxic jimson weed. I am the official locator, then J. uses a viciously sharpened shovel to root out the plants.
This battered thermometer was hanging in the carport when we bought the place.
I'm not sure if it is comforting to watch the needle move past the 90 degree F. mark each day.
The "natives" are telling us that there has not been such an intensely hot summer in local memory.
A number of us had a group grumble after chuch this week regarding the pitiable condition of our gardens.
It is not, we agreed, a good year for tomatoes.
Grasshopper? Katydid?
The scrape and hum of these creatures is constant, a metallic rasping that hangs in the thick air.
I have encountered toads of varying sizes while working in the garden and near the house.
During yesterdays afternoon rain I found this one chinning itself on the edge of this large flower pot. A rosemary in a smaller pot usually resides here. I removed the rosemary the better to view the toadlet.
Pebbles seems to take the heat well. Keeping flies away from her face is a problem.
Most days she wears her fly hood. She is very interested in everything that we do around the dooryard or in her pasture.
Maybe this small green insect is the katydid?
Good camoflauge.
This half-grown bunny bounced out of the catnip patch and dithered dementedly before disappearing into the hydrangeas.
The cats have spells of lethargy in spite of the air conditioning.
They rouse to oversee our doings.
Early mornings have been misty with heavy dew.
The wild turkeys have been grubbing in the upper pasture.
No matter how quietly I open the side door, they hear me. Their long necks stretch out, their bodies seem to flatten as they scuttle toward the woods.
I have devoted several of these stiffling afternoons and evenings to my genealogy projects.
The process of discovery is exciting--a treasure hunt.
I'm now disciplining myself to go through notebooks and transcribe data to the PC.
Eggnog loves to be with me. She is such a sweet-natured old girl that I attempt to type around her.
The young Amish woman who keeps a tiny general store at the end of the road phoned this morning [6:45!] to announce that the peach order had arrived.
[The area Amish don't have phones in their homes but have one installed somewhere on the property and go outside to make calls.]
We rush several times per day to answer what turn out to be nuisance calls--recorded solicitations and such.
Maybe we need to locate the phone in the garage!
It has been a long day of feeling that the kitchen needs to be a bigger space at canning time.
A cooking range should be designed especially for large kettles and steamers and canners.
Today's yield is 10 qts of peaches and 7 small jars of preserves.
I know where I will spend tomorrow.
