I adore the early morning. I realize that many of you are not of a similar disposition and would rather lick wet paint than get out of bed an instant before you have to. My husband is definitely not a morning person. I’ve learned not to try to discuss anything important with him before noon. But mornings are so lovely. The world is fresh and new, the air is nearly always still, and everything is quiet but for the twittering of birds.
This morning was especially beautiful. The dawn light spilled over the horizon like golden honey and created flashing patterns on the earth beneath the oak tree. The delicate pattern of veins of each emerald leaf was clearly visible. Here and there a crystal droplet of dew flashed with rainbow light. Active robins busily rustled the brown carpet of last fall’s leaves, while placid doves quietly pecked seeds from among the weeds. As I watched a particularly fat dove waddle past my tomato plants I noticed that they are far too big for their four inch pots! I’m not quite sure when they became a knee-high jungle of fragrant hairy stems and velvet green leaves. Yet it is obvious they need more than they have now.
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clinging and tangling its way ever upward on my front porch. I had just begun to despair of actually getting any peas from the vining jungle when I began to notice the first delicate magenta blooms peaking from ruffled clusters of yellow green leaves. Now tiny yellow pea pods are pushing their way out flowers that have faded to blue and I will soon enjoy them lightly sautéed with butter and garlic.
encircled me and the cool moist air teased my skin. Drops of dew shimmered on everything. Tiny threads of silken spider web, generally invisible, glittered with watery baubles.
brownness in the oven. I can never wait more than a few minutes before cutting into the steaming hot bread, spreading it liberally with butter, and eating it.
We moved into our tiny cottage in town on February 24th, probably the bleakest time of year in the Ozarks. The bright palette of Autumn was long gone and only a few tattered brown remnants of Summer’s glory clung defiantly to their spindly branches. Our lawn was a barren rocky wasteland and an untidy collection of shrubs, vines and adolescent trees spanned the back property line. I was determined to tear out that eyesore at the first possible chance. I envisioned a neat privacy fence with dwarf fruit trees artfully espaliered against it..
short lived, each day shedding their tender wreath of petals to leave only the bristly globe that will, in time, become a glossy blackberry.
lacy leaves of maturity. It is nearly time to remove them from their small sheltered nursery and let them dig their roots deep into the wide open earth. Yet I have no idea where to put them. I need a plan.
e never before had this luxury of being able to walk to where I need to be. There’s amazing freedom in knowing I don’t have to fret about a three cent gasoline price hike.
Everything is growing by leaps and bounds now. The wooly sage colored leaves and tiny purple flowers of henbit push brazenly toward the sun while vivid purple violets bow modestly amid their leafy rosettes. I cringe at mowing such lovely plants, but something must be done to keep them in check lest they take over the entire lawn and push out their more timid cousins.