I walked around the yard tonight after I put the children in their beds. Prodded out of doors by their promises to stay put, I took a turn around the yard. All the way around. I do this a handful of times during the day if I am home. I've been home most of the day feeling miserable with a cold.
On these turns, I usually pocket a few eggs from the coop. The other day I pulled up all the lettuce that had begun to bolt and then harvested the red kale (all of this made room for the beans, which I planted on a morning turn today).
I discovered a good sunny spot for the fig tree and Dr. Gooch planted it. It's his fig tree, so his approval was crucial. He may beg to differ (meaning he may not believe that I believe his approval was crucial), but it's true to be sure.
On a turn tonight I plucked a twig from an unknown-to-me tree (to take inside and give it the ol' dichotomous key treatment), I frowned at the eggplant that don't seem to be thriving as well as I'd like, but saw that my cosmos and wildflowers that I poked into the ground last week have sprouted. It's all this wonderful spring rain we've been getting. I watched the hens. The younger girls (now three) like to head in for the evening earlier than the older ones. But Gloria and her gang kick them out and demand first choice as far as roosting goes, so the non-layers have to step aside and then resettle themselves. Every single night. The same ritual. Our lone rooster was killed the night before last. All that remains is a smattering of pretty black and white feathers by the compost pile (Dr. Gooch disposed of the mangled body before the rest of us had even stirred). I wonder if they miss their man.
Then, it begins to be too dark to see anything but the silhouette of the three great Willow Oaks against the sky. I come in. The unknown tree is another (younger) Willow Oak but with larger leaves. The chickens are settled. All six.
I'll go to bed congested but content to have this little bit of earth for the six of us.
Happy Mother's Day.
RIP, Mister Rooster