Abundance...

 We've had lots of rain, and are glad.  The pasture is lush and green, the gardens are growing beautifully, and the air is filled with birdsong. It is the height of summer and life is abundant. 

Cheryl came and mowed the pasture. She squeezed this project in amongst her already busy schedule, so it was an hour here, two hours there until it was done. Meanwhile, she left her tractor parked in our yard, and that made me happy. It looked like a "real" farmlette!

 The first night she came upon a lovely nest full of turkey eggs. Now, a week or so later, there is a hen turkey with a wee flock of tiny poults hanging around. 

The goats and donkeys seem to like it when the pasture is freshly shorn. They explore with obvious excitement and dine on things they previously could not reach. It seems to bring new energy to the whole herd. 

This evening when I went out to do chores I walked to the upper pasture and the animals all joined me. I heard a little commotion on the way back and turned to see a whole lot of running. This is about as fast as the donkeys ever move. I am delighted that I caught it on my camera. 

There is an abundance of joy captured here. 

Freshening up...

 It's been a while since I did any "freshening up" in the house. This state of affairs changed drastically when I was in an antique store a few weeks ago. I'd made the whole circuit without falling in love with anything. Then, as I approached the exit, there they were. Two wing chairs, sturdy and comfortable, at a most reasonable price.  

The upholstery was in great shape if a little grubby in spots. For several years I've thought that two wing-back chairs would be perfect in our front room. I had a sofa in there, but the room is small, and the sofa took up a lot of real estate.  Quick as a wink, I arranged to bring the chairs home. 

The sofa got moved to the living room, and I ordered slipcovers for the chairs. I had a clear vision of how I wanted the room to look. I cast a critical eye at our beloved table and benches. The paint was worn, looking more shabby than chic, and the cream and blue color scheme was not fitting in with my new vision. 

This weekend I got my trusty sander out and went to work smoothing up the rough spots and putting a fresh coat of paint on everything. I'm not sure I should be allowed to paint; I go at with gusto and make a mess. Even with an old blanket under my work area, I splattered paint about with reckless abandon and had to do quite a bit of remedial cleaning up when all was said and done. 

But oh! it looks so clean and bright and fresh now. And the chairs, in their new outfits, are just how I imagined they'd be.

I think the room looks a little larger with the new additions and fresh paint. 

Now I am looking about to see what else needs "freshening up." Perhaps another antique store stroll is in order? 

Life with Chris...

 

Chris leaves our toothbrushes like this, "kissing," every morning and evening. When we go to bed at night, he nests my eyeglasses into his, so they "snuggle" while we sleep. 

Every morning when I wake up, with the wrinkles, sags, and silver hair earned with 61 years on the planet, he says, "You are so pretty," or "My goodness, you are a handsome woman." Before he goes to work he puts on a little aftershave, then kisses me sweetly, rubbing his beard on my face so the scent lingers through the morning hours. He has a long commute and is often gone 10-12 hours, but he comes home smiling, gives a long hug, and chats happily about his day. 

Chris loves to feed people, and keeps frequent guest's favorite beer or spirit on hand so he can please them when they arrive. An excellent cook, he manages to use a vast array of pots, bowls, and dishes for even a simple meal. I clean up with gratitude in my heart, to live with a man who takes such delight in preparing and serving food to those he loves. 

He wears big boots with rugged soles and tracks what I call "boot waffles" through the house. Mostly when the floors are freshly washed. He is genuinely surprised when I point this out, never noticing the mess. I grumble, but really this is a nice attribute because when I inevitably make a mess he doesn't ever mind. 

Life with Chris means that no matter what he and I are doing if our daughter should call and need him, he drops everything to respond. My feelings can't stay hurt... who could begrudge a man who loves his child so much? 

Chris likes to tell jokes and stories to make people laugh. The joy on his face when someone at our table laughs so hard they have to wipe their eyes makes my eyes leak a little, too. 

My late "Aunt" Pearl used to say, "You have a true helpmate in Chris." If it's time to clean the chicken coop, he's there to haul muck buckets of shavings away. The same is true when I clean the goat cozy and donkey dorm, "Everything is easier when we do it together," he says. 

Rachel says, "You don't write enough about dad in your blog." She's right. He is the sunshine in my wee solar system. All that is wonderful in my world revolves around life with Chris. 

Creating...

 When I was a teenager, my boyfriend's mother taught me to knit. I never progressed much past making simple things, and sometime in my 30's, I gave all my needles away. I taught daughter Rachel the art when she was in her single digits, and she and some young friends had a knitting club (dubbed "The Knit Wits."). She kept on and has far exceeded her teacher's skills, creating amazing works of knitted art. 

Last summer, I was inspired to knit again and made some wee booties for a friend's baby. And now I am working on a blanket softer than soft, with a simple little lacy edge. I have made errors, though the pattern is not complex, but there is love in every loop. 

There is more than stitchery being created. I've been keeping a long secret, holding it like a warm treasure, close to my heart. 

The cozy blanket I am making will swaddle a new baby. 

A grandchild is the richness of tradition, the excitement of youth, and the promise of tomorrow. We are expecting our tomorrow this fall. I am joyous. 

Intertwined...

 My first memory of Jamie involves lunch at a long table in our high school cafeteria. I don't remember what I ate, but I recall loving the days I got to eat lunch with Jamie. She was one of the girls that knew everyone in our class and got along with all of them. Known for her infectious smile and loud laugh, everyone liked her. 

After graduation, we lost touch for a while. I knew she'd married, lived on Cape Cod, and had two daughters. Eventually, we found each other on Facebook and got caught up. That was nice. Then Flirt had her last puppy, Boone, and Jamie told me they were looking for a new dog to love. Soon it was all arranged, and Jamie and her sweet husband Harry came to Maine to take their new puppy home. With that event, we not only became reacquainted but also "dog in-laws." And we've seen each other every year since. 

Last week Jamie and her daughter Aimee, along with dogs Boone and Ella, came and spent a few days in their camper, which they parked jauntily in our front yard. It was fun to have them here. I groomed the dogs up, the ladies did a little exploring of the area. Once again I sat happily across the table from Jamie to share a meal. It's safe to say it was tastier than whatever they were serving in high school back then.

The weather was ridiculously hot, and Jaime kindly French braided my hair to help me stay cooler. 

46 years after we met, here we are, giggling girlfriends, braiding hair, and chatting up a storm. Still intertwined, despite the passage of so much time.

In this picture I am holding Flirt, Jamie is holding Boone. We were all happy to just be together.

Aimee was not to be outdone in the niceness department. She gifted me with a beautiful sweater she made. The pattern is called "Love Note," and it was knit in an unbelievably soft mohair blend. Last night we went to a party. The air was a little chilly, and I was delighted to don my new sweater. It was cozy as can be, and everyone that saw me complimented it. I made them all pat it so they could fully appreciate how luscious it feels. The gift of a hand-knit sweater seems simply over the top to me. All the creativity and artistry and kindness imbued in every loopy, woven stitch. It seems impossible that I should own such a wonderous thing, but I do, and it warms me in more ways than one.                                     

                                              

And then they packed up the dogs and charming trailer, and headed home, leaving a weave of happy memories behind.