Dear Mom,
Hopefully I can take some pictures tomorow. Spring has sprung here, even if there may still be time for snow. Trees are budding and a patch of daffodils are blooming. Doesn't quite compare to the pink-carpeted sidewalks under the cherry trees in Seattle, but it'll do, Pig.
I've now been able to dry the last two loads of laundry on the line under the veranda roof, and it's delightful. As I was remakng the beds after dinner, it started to smell like camping. In the good way, of course.
Love,
Ruth
1 comment:
Dear Ruth,
Whooopeee. The blog continueth. Good to hear from you again. I know it's been busy for you the last week; you've needed to catch your breath.
MMMmmmm. Sheets hung outdoors..... love that smell... can't do it here as it would be like pressing pollen directly up dad's nose.
A few of our daffys are blooming along the driveway fence, and the mother's day magnolia is having its explosion of white, always the first large statement of spring. It is a good time to be in my studio because that magnolia takes up the whole view out the sliding doors. I remember how small it was when I planted it over 25 years ago, and am always so happy that I picked a spot that managed to evolve without requiring that bush to be transplanted, not even once. Such a lovely gift from you kids. I have a very warm place in my heart for it, and try to let it know with gifts of compost. Every spring it acts grateful.
Send pictures anytime. Another beautiful day here. I will be shoveling sand. I'm moving the pile for the umpteenth time. It could take some lessons from the magnolia; that sand can't seem to be in a place that isn't in the way the next season. Today I'm moving most of it into the paths between the raised beds in the veggie garden. I'd dug most of the dirt out of the paths to fill the beds last fall anyway, so the sand will bring those areas up to sea level again...perfect spot for that sand, at last. Even when put into the chicken pens, I eventually have to dig it out again to keep the chickens from walking over the fence. This sand has moved around more than granny bea and grandad.
Love, mom
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