Well, the bales haven't sprouted lush plantings of delicious veggies--yet. Give them time, it's only their second day of conditioning. I'm taking this year as a learning year, already plotting where to buy bales in the fall for less money and Durwood asked the other day if I could squeeze another pair of bales between these. No, but I can move everything toward the side of the garden. Next year. See, I had planned for 6 bales which is why I weeded last weekend until my hamstrings were about ready to jump out of my body and run for the hills but I thought I'd be smart (for once) and start smaller. I positioned them where they are because there are already stakes in the uphill side of the garden so there was less pounding. In the same garden space as the bales this lone tulip has bloomed. It's crammed in among the poppies, daisies, purple coneflower, and bee balm so this is its only time to shine before all the others get tall and shade it out.
I was out and about this morning so here's the sky crossing the Mason Street bridge in the middle of the city. Isn't it gorgeous? I just want to fold it up and put it in my pocket to make me smile all day--because it has totally clouded over. I don't think it's supposed to rain (more's the pity, that would water in today's ration of fertilizer in the bales) but it sure is dreary.
The ferns in the planting bed behind the kitchen are unfurling. One variety has tiny fronds that are dwarfed by the lily of the valley spears around it and the other variety (I'll have to check my old garden notebook to see if I can figure out what they are) is still sending up maroon curls that are threading through the daylily leaves.
I am happy to report that the old lilac bush that I rescued from the first house we lived in on Liberty Street is covered with buds. Hooray!
May 9--Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Grand Canal, Venice. The water breaks the sunlight into shards that ricochet off the pale stone of the buildings. Black gondolas glide like waterstriders, move past each other going about the day's business as if they weren't anachronisms. "This whole place is preposterous," Susan said. "It's like a movie set. Even the light is too perfect to be real." That's when the bloated body of a dead rat floated under the bridge and she shuddered. Not a movie set after all.
Sorry, I couldn't just make it all pretty-pretty. I didn't knit yesterday, I ran errands in the morning and then Durwood had an appointment after which I turned him loose in the grocery store. He spent an hour and a half there and spent less than $20. He had a blast. Did you know that the post office doesn't open until 8:30? I got there just after 8 o'clock and had to wrestle with the automated machine to mail my package. Not a happy experience. Who wants to charge postage? *shrugs* Oh well, time to water my bales.