With warmer weather and a little desire to get some kind of garden started, I found myself sitting on a homemade stool yesterday, playing in the dirt. Red onions planted to the right and the middle planter was being cleaned of weeds, new dirt added along with compost, food and a bag of potting mix.
My mother taught me long ago, along with my grandparents, the feel of good dirt. Texture, crumble, moisture, color and experience. Good dirt feels good and I am at a loss of a more in-depth explanation. Bad growing dirt feels bad; hard, no adhesion, no moisture and no color of nutrition. So, the middle bin above had just completed the transition to becoming "good dirt."
I found that sitting there running my hands and fingers through the dirt to be a simple pleasure. Quiet time with a satisfaction that this day and moment was officially starting my growing season. Although weeks late as far as the onions go, it was still a start. I had purchased the last two bundles of red onion sets the day before from a local nursery.
The cardboard on the ground between these two beds had been a makeshift covering covering the right hand bin. When I removed it for planting the onions, there was not one weed in the bin. The bin to the left was full of weeds and needed a complete cleaning and re-make. Lessons I knew, just had not practiced. Bin #3 to the left a very good example of neglect.
CINNAMON DIRT
This particular bin was full of red ants. They have been here for months and were in my sights all along. I cleaned out a layer of weeds and turned the ant hill over and over. Then a bottle of cinnamon seasoning was emptied on the dirt. Cinnamon is not poison to anything planted, but the ants hate it. They tend to move on. A little more cinnamon around the outside base today or soon.
Now I will add "good dirt" and prepare this bin for the bride to sprinkle in her mixture of wild flowers and then give all of this to God and Texas rain.
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CAT SNUGGLE
Quality days for my wife and me are time spent in the carport, sitting in lawn chairs after some yard work and soaking up the onset of the warm winds of spring and summer. A blue sky, a rising sun an inch or so each day along with new shadows. And the consistency of her cat.
Since she was a kitten, barely weened from her mother, my wife's cat has taken to her. Our two cats follow us around like dogs. Meowing advice or complaints and often pushing us to park ourselves so they, too, can find important cat moments of closeness. My cat is standoffish. But she is my cat. No lap time but rather a drop dead moment on the warm cement in front of our chairs. Her meow is quiet as if it is a necessary forced comment on these kinds of moments. But wife's cat seeks her lap and quickly puts a face to what relaxing should be.
If my wife moves or adjusts herself for comfort, her cat has to comment. Eyes somewhat open, verbally pushing her for the perfection of her lap time. It works!
All four of us enjoying the welcome warmth of seasons change and closeness of this family.
And after all of these years here we have finally put out bird food. We fed the birds in New Hampshire and had to fight with the bears and squirrels. Not here, though. Birds of all sizes and shapes are starting to flit filling in voids to this picture. A good day.
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AIRSPEED BOAT #2
Our good and younger family friends are at a dock somewhere south of the Bahamas. A newer boat for them with more room.
I have had my sailing days in the beauty of the Pacific Northwest. But being on boats and on the water has always set me at ease. And I knew this years ago that if I was going to want for this, it needed to be done then, not when I got older. I did not miss these kinds of adventures. They are good memories now.
From the "Captain"
"We sailed 700 miles in 20 days, so we've been on the move a lot. We're hoping to start really soaking up the enjoyment. Unfortunately, I got food poisoning two nights ago which knocked me out all day yesterday. Late last night, our oldest son got very sick and his mother is not feeling well now. And, of course, our youngest son has a stomach made out of a cast iron boiler and he was and is completely fine."
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JIBBER JABBER
Finally, a normal Sunday post, on time, on the schedule at least for this week.
Worldly things seem to be of less and less importance in the life of this blog. Maybe just a hiccup, but I am finding more and more that grabbing the little things along each day are more important.
I am loving afternoon naps, but I have had a life time of practice. The noise here in the land of farms is quiet. Maybe a car passing, a tractor pulling a load of hay to a far off field of cattle or the chimes on the porch reporting break that quiet.
My wife put a chuck roast in the crock-pot last night and we awoke to the smell of home cooking this morning. Breakfast consisted of fall-apart roast covered in fresh gravy. The first time in years, I have not had a fried egg for breakfast. Not having to cook a lot is also becoming more and more "a thing." Warming up leftovers is becoming a desired norm for us. Call me lazy.
Thanks for the visit this week. "Times they are a changin"
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