Morning, morning, morning, the night's curtain is parting, Elvis is crowing and so is the bantie rooster next door. He sounds like a castrato but he is merely tiny. Elvis's voice, I assure you, is deep and throaty and manly. Yes. We all know that Elvis is the Man Rooster of the neighborhood.
Owen is coming soon and he will go around and carefully hand me all of the things that he cannot touch so that I can put them away. The vase on the hall table, the dog food.
"Here, Meir-Meir," he seems to be saying. "Put these away so I will not be tempted."
It is one of our rituals.
And then we will go and let the chickens out and feed them their scratch and that is his favorite ritual of all, of course. The expression on his face when Elvis crows and flaps his wings is priceless. The big O! of his mouth and eyes. Every time. Cracks me up, that boy.
Oh yes. He does.
It's supposed to get down to 41 tonight and yet, up to 81 today. This seems odd but I'll take it. Sweat during the day, cool off at night. Not so bad. I worked in the garden yesterday and planted my spinach (late) and some more collards and pulled out the bolted arugula which I shared with the goats and chickens and mule next door and also my own chickens. They came in the garden when I was working and immediately ran to the cabbage, the winter collards, and began to peck, peck, peck at the leaves. There is plenty for us all. I will make a huge pot of those collards to take to Lis and Lon's giant party this weekend and then I will pull those too. They are bolted, their yellow flowers worthy of a vase on strong stems which look almost like asparagus.
It was so satisfying to pull and plant and then mulch. Two of the bags of leaves had giant stinging ants in them though, and I had to run to the house, stripping as I ran, to drop my clothes on the back porch and jump in the shower to get them off me. Gardening is not a leisurely activity here in North Florida. We take our lumps, we get bitten. We sweat like pigs.
It is grand.
The mist rises, the old moss hangs from the old trees. The rooster crows. Owen is coming.
Wonders, wonders, and more wonders.
And guess what? There is going to be a wedding here next month! I couldn't talk about it until recently but now I can and I will tell the story soon.
No, it is not Jessie and Vergil who are going to be wed. At this point, anyway.
Well, more later.
I am glad that you are working in the garden. I have to pull my bolted plants too. Those fire ants are the worst. Have a good day. I am weary but okay here.ReplyDelete
I think The House of Moon must be the best place on the planet to have a wedding.ReplyDelete
Hey mama, did you know that some people eat collard flowers? I sort of want to see what they're like.ReplyDelete
I remember heat. Vaguely. I should really get into the garden and do something. Anything.ReplyDelete
Stinging ants? Yikes! The heat, the coolness, all in a gardening day...I am alway impressed with you and Mr. Moon...because I think of the times you have mentioned snakes too.ReplyDelete
Sharing the garden...that is what gardening should be...all should enjoy the fresh veggies.
You left us hanging...who is getting married? Oh you clever woman...we look forward to the story you will weave.
agree with Michelle.ReplyDelete
Love your gardening descriptions.
Syd- I am glad to hear you're okay. I am thinking about you.ReplyDelete
Michelle- It does not suck.
DTG- Why not? I can only imagine that stir-frying them would result in something lovely.
Mwa- I sweat yesterday in the garden. I did.
Ellen- All is now revealed.
Bethany- Well. Here we are if you ever need a place to be married. Right here.