Oh The Work There Is To Do

It's 70 degrees here and I was happy to have a normal kind of day.

This last week had too much sad. Uncle Berry, Bran's Granny, Sallie's Daddy, a local eighteen year old boy, Sammie's mother-in-law, c'mon-enough! Lord bless us all in this grieving time.

Today I cleaned the coop. The Easter Eggers have started laying again and it is still a delight to find a blue/green egg in a nest box.

Rae-rae and Michael stopped by and we shortened the elastic on Gideon's Fuzzibunz and talked all things baby. We then went to a new farm store that recently opened close-by. They have a different chicken feed with probiotics included. I give my chickie-girls yogurt from time to time, but thought I might give this feed a whirl. I enjoyed spending some putzing time with them and the Handy Man.

We returned home with the intent to plant lettuce. Handy Man is about to croak waiting for the gardens to dry so he can live out there with his new tiller. He tried just a corner for me and it looks good. Gale force winds however discouraged me from trying to keep teeny weeny seed where it is supposed to go. So, instead I clipped lots of stuff back.

I told Handy Man that after all the money and labor I've poured into plants, the biggest thing in the yard just blew in on a breeze and settled in my garden, yes, right in it, and called it home. It's somewhat of a misnomer to say Butterfly Bush, though that is it's common name. It should say Butterfly Tree. It is the hugest thing I've ever seen. Someone said,"Why don't you cut it back," and I laughed. Today, I whacked off at least half of that girl. If past years are any indication, she smiles and sends out six more shoots for everyone I cut. Now you know I love her when she's in full bloom and those interesting moth creatures that at first make me think of a humming bird are flying around. And the butterflies of all makes and models are a joy on a hot afternoon. The honey smell is so delicious. I remained amazed. She is big though, and in the garden. Who am I to argue when you've found your niche.

After tackling the garden monstrosity, I went after the black raspberry canes. The old ones have to go and some new ones too, if there are too many, and you know there were. Two wheelbarrow loads of old canes and vines were moved out.

Arwen, if you recall, is a Great Pyrenees. Great Hair Ball would be a more accurate name. Handy Man has already started brushing her. It's so cute. He calls her name and holds up the brush, and she comes running, plops her self down for spell. When Handy Man stops to clean the brush, she paws him and tries to kiss him, for she fears he has stopped. She looks completely lovesick. I sort of feel that way when he scratches or rubs my back, so I get it. Every bird in this area could line their nest with Arwen fur. She is the sweetest dog.

So, back to work tomorrow. Let's hear it for a calm, uneventful week. Well, unless that sweet new grandboy of mine wants to turn himself and head for the nearest exit, that would be alright by me.