Sprouts!

I was thrilled to see red potato sprouts when I went out to survey the straw bale garden this morning.  I've been getting a little nervous that some rodent burrowed in there and ate my potato or the potato didn't like me and was refusing to grow but all of my nerves and fears disappeared at the appearance of these little leaf clusters.


 


The red begonia evidently likes the pot and soil I gave it the other day.  




 

The honeysuckle buds are opening.  The majority of the hummingbirds come after the honeysuckle starts blooming.  I know that they haven't been around for the last couple weeks because they're busy raising babies but soon the Mama Hummingbird will bring the babies to show them were the nectar is and then Durwood will have lots of birdies to watch.  He keeps mistaking robins for orioles... maybe if he wore his glasses...






The pots of patio flowers are thriving and the zinnia seeds I sprinkled around the petunias in the green rectangular planters are up and making leaves.  I'm impressed that I recognize them so I didn't weed them out.





 


And the blueberry bushes are recovering from being nibbled down to the ground over last winter.  As the master gardener I spoke with said, they're not going to bear fruit this year but at least there're leaves.  I have hope--and chicken wire to keep the bunnies away.



I saw this chipmunk playing king-of-the-hill on top of one of the garbage cans where I store the birdseed.  It spent a lot of time up there calling out his claim on the domain.  We have too many chipmunks this year, they're digging holes in all of my flower pots, the little striped rascals.


Didn't sew, didn't knit, not one stitch today.  Oh, I hemmed a pair of pants for DIL1 but that took about 10 minutes and it isn't making anyway, it's mending.  I went down to The Attic Books & Cafe to write with ACJ for a couple hours.  We did a prompt but mostly talked about my novel and her new short story instead of knuckling down to write.  It was still 2 hours well spent.

June 6--Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Madame Heriot.  The little old woman sat hunched in her wheelchair with only her feet caught in the shaft of sunlight coming through the gap in the blinds.  Her white hair stood out from her pink scalp in all directions and her hands trembled in her lap.  Her polyester slacks were that odd brown color that seems to slide toward olive green in certain lights and her blouse was so faded that it looked transparent.  Around her shoulders was a gorgeous silk-embroidered shawl.

I'm taking the van in early tomorrow for an oil change and to have the brakes checked so I'll give Chad the keys and walk home.  Naturally I've spent the whole day thinking of errands I'd like to run tomorrow.  If the van was spending the day in the garage I know I'd be happy to spend the day at home.  Maybe I'll take a walk.  Maybe I'll take a nap.  Nah, probably not.  I'm no good at naps.  Durwood is the napping pro in the family.
--Barbara