Discourse On Naturally Occurring Events And Activities

The wild gladiola is blooming, small flares of flame around the yard. They grow up every year but I've never seen as many blooms as I've seen this year. I spend half my life pulling them out by the bulb and there are still thousands.

Verdant. Fecund. This old piece of dirt in Lloyd is full of life now. The good rains we had in spring, the not-yet overwhelming heat have come together to bring it all into deep green and blooming glory.

I think it is quite possible that I self-medicate my anxiety with all of this green, just as some self-medicate by a proximity to the water and it is no mystery why I love Cozumel so much, feeling so purely myself there in a way I never do elsewhere. All that water and all that sky, the colors of blue and green and teal and turquoise, purple and every hue and color in that palette. They pull a peacefulness, a joy from my soul and I revel in it. 

It's not just the flora which is so rich this year. The fauna abounds as well. I have fifteen female Golden Orb weavers on my swing porch alone. And the porch is small and the spiders large.

Many of them are accompanied in their webs with a small male. They have strung their webs on the front porch and between porches and trees and between trees and bushes too. I feel like I should put up a warning sign for any acrachnophobes who might inadvertently walk into their most dire nightmare upon entering my property. I do not mind them at all unless I carelessly walk into a web and then a curse or two may be uttered.

The chickens are delighting me right now. As we worked in the yard yesterday getting rid of those dogwoods, I kept a close eye on the hen house to see who was coming and going. Miss Chi-Chi (or was it Miss Cha-Cha?) sat on the nest for the second day in a row with no result. But Miss Butterscotch 

laid another egg and my mystery hen laid another egg and Mabel, Miss Bob, and Sharon all laid as well. This morning I believe that Miss Cha-Cha (or is it Chi-Chi?) did indeed fulfill her need to lay as I found one lovely small white egg in the nest. 

A white egg! 

I have had green and blue and brown and ivory eggs, but this is my first white one. 

Here are the white sisters, the Chi-Chi, the Cha-Cha.

And here is Missy, the diminutive black hen with the fluffy pantaloons. 

Yesterday evening I saw Elvis Junior from next door top Missy and not one sound was uttered by either. 

Here's El J, as I call him.

He's a handsome lad, isn't he? Not as dramatically marked as his father, but a fine looking rooster nonetheless. I believe that neither he nor Missy made any of the usual squawking that goes on during mating so as not to draw the attention of either Elvis or Drogo. I have seen Elvis try to dance his come-on-baby-you-know-you-want-me dance with several of the new hens but they have all, as far as I've seen, refused his charms successfully. Drogo gets laid regularly although I've certainly never seen him make a move on any of Elvis's hens. I swear to you though- it might be happening and I just don't know it. It's like Peyton Place around here with all the different roosters and their hens. There are times that Elvis, Drogo, El J, and the two beautiful banty roosters from next door are all in the yard with their various hens and I've never yet seen any of the roosters get into an altercation. But I do believe that all of the roosters recognize Elvis as the Alpha male and guard their actions accordingly.
It is vastly interesting to me, this society of chickens, their culture, their comings and goings and matings and laying of eggs. It's almost ridiculous, or maybe it is ridiculous, no modifiers needed. Each and every egg I get seems like a magical treasure I've discovered. I mean- perfect protein encased in such a beautiful shell! What could be better?

And so it is on this Sunday. Mr. Moon is on the porch with me, going over the contract for Jessie and Vergil's house. The man can tear a contract UP. Not literally. You know what I mean. His mind works in ways that mine does not. This is going to be the most analyzed and carefully scrutinized house contract in the history of the Universe because Vergil's mind works in much the same way as Glen's does. The house inspection is tomorrow and if that goes well, the purchase will proceed.

It is Sunday. Buster is lying on the porch floor, napping. Maurice is in the yard hunting. I just saved a tiny green lizard from her cruel play and she is pissed at me but she'll forgive me. Every time one of the hens goes into the nest or comes out, I notice and am keeping track. I just saw Butterscotch come off the nest and make her call and I am proud to report that Drogo did his rooster job and came rushing to escort her back to the flock.

One last picture.

Elvis and four of his five hens. Miss Ozzie was standing off to the side. I love the way they're lined up, eating scratch with Elvis behind, keeping a watchful eye.

I feel so lazy that my veins may well be flowing with molasses rather than blood.

And that is just fine with me.

Love...Ms. Moon