Groundwork and gratitude...

 We have had some lovely spring days as April winds down. I know many of my readers live further south and have a hard time wrapping their heads around the fact that we still have frost some nights, that it is too soon to plant gardens, and that migratory birds are still newly arriving here. Indeed, I discovered my first dandelion today. They are the earliest flowers here and the first food for the bees as they emerge, so though they are considered weeds, they are something to celebrate. 

I planted some pansies in tubs; their happy faces bobbing in the spring breeze are one of my favorite sights.

Today we did some seasonal chores. Chris took the windows off the goat cozy and hauled two animal hutches to a corner of the pasture until we need them next. This simple move made things look much tidier.

We picked up some windblown trash from the yard and pasture. Chris repaired a troublesome gate that was allowing the naughty goats to escape into the backyard where they were nibbling sprouting iris and lilies. They also like to dance on the picnic table, and today little Glory climbed into the fire pit for a nap. I am happy that their mischief has been curtailed. 

Together we did a deep clean on all the animal houses, sweeping out every corner before piling in bright shavings. Bravo supervised. It's the last time I'll be able to do this happy chore for a while; I'm passing my pitchfork off to others for a bit.

On Wednesday, I say "Hasta la Kneesta" to my right knee. My bones are worn out, the joint collapsed, and as much as I dislike dealing with doctors, hospitals, and... needles (!) I am almost looking forward to having it replaced because pain is exhausting. A friend told me that the recovery is "obnoxious." I like that word. I think I can handle that. And I am endlessly grateful that I have a whole team of people to help me. Chris took ten days off to wait on me. Rachel will be here to keep the studio running and assist as needed, too. My sweet sister Deb is coming for the first days to lend a hand and bring yummy food. I am most fortunate to have the opportunity to have this problem repaired and to have a support system to see me through. I must admit, though, I'm going to miss my pitchfork. 

Sounds of spring...

 Our bird feeder has been visited by some unusual migratory birds recently. Pine siskins, petite and modest in shades of brown with soft golden highlights, a few brilliant yellow pine warblers, and this yellow-rumped warbler that was very fond of our suet cakes, have been sharing their meals with us. It is fun to see their unfamiliar faces. 

The air is filled with song as breeding territories are established, wood thrushes sing from the tree line,  loons call from the pond, and in between, robins are whinnying, and bluebirds and cardinals trilling. The quote, "My favorite season is bird-chirping season," by L. Hartwould, echoes in my head. 

From the vernal pool at the pasture's edge, the tiny peeper frogs begin a chorus at dusk. I well remember my mother's delight at the sound of them in early spring each year, "A true harbinger of spring," she would say, her pretty face wreathed in smiles. After the long, silent winter, spring is filled with joyful noise. 

The other day I noticed a blob of an animal in the field across the street. It was bigger and darker than a groundhog and moving slowly. Rachel popped the Owlet into her backpack and went to investigate. It had moved, rustling into the underbrush, and, when it saw them scuttled up a tree. A porcupine, possibly the one that damaged the bark on my beloved crab apple tree, gave them a baleful stare and vanished into the high branches. 

We've slowly begun to clean up the yard from winter. Yesterday we burned a small brush pile, and we hope to tackle the larger pile this weekend. It was a cool, drizzly day, and the weather was warm enough to hook the garden hose up in case the fire got out of hand, so we spent some happy time alternately piling wood into the ring and sitting to enjoy the sight of the dancing flames. 

The Owlet loves the warm weather and asks to go outside frequently. She has invented a sign that means, "Go out," looking at the door and twisting her chubby wrist, mimicking the motion of turning a doorknob. "Do you want to go outside," we ask. She gives her biggest smile and signs an emphatic "YES!" She is toddling now, and it is a treat to see her tiny self exploring the world on two wee feet. We are looking forward to days warm enough to let her enjoy outdoor water play, which will truly delight her. 

We embrace the noise and joys of spring. 

Kisses...

 Last week we celebrated our daughter's birthday. I indulged in a little stroll down memory lane, thinking of the first time my lips brushed the downy fluff of her tiny head when she was placed in my arms the day she was born. I had no way of knowing she would grow to be my best buddy, that we would work side by side, or that I would be able to be a big part of her daughter's life. We celebrated the event as she asked, my sister Deb and her daughter Aimee came, and we worked together to create a toddler bedroom for the Owlette. Furniture was moved, clothes sorted and stored, a rug installed, and toys arranged. The next day there was antique store strolling, lunch out, and general sweetness. A pleasant celebration of a momentous day. 

A few days later, Chris and I celebrated our 39th wedding anniversary. We both took the day off work, enjoyed a pretty drive, had a little lunch out, a few kisses, and later had a nice supper at a new local restaurant with Rachel and her family. 

At some point, I popped into my friend's barn and chatted with a Jersey calf. I was delighted when she reached up and gave me a cow kiss. 

Then today, we returned Wyatt, the borrowed buck, to his home farm. I have to admit I was a little sad to see him go. He's been a pleasant guest. While we were there, the goat farmer said, "We have kids," and opened to door to the barn. Under a heat lamp, there was a pile of the tiniest goat kids I have ever seen. 

I think there are 7 here in an impossibly small space. The farmer picked one up, "This one was born last night," It pressed its wee face into mine. It smelled of hay and pine shavings and milk and sweetness. I was sunk and pressed my lips into its warm fur while I melted a little. 

I had to force myself to put that kid down and walk away, knowing I'd have some of my own to love in a few months. I got a chuckle when I turned to see the larger area with all the other goats. Fresh hay had just been delivered, and the goats were all vying for space at the rack. Two of the smaller ones solved the problem by just climbing up on the backs of the others and reaching the best stuff. See the dark spotted one second from the left? Her feet are NOT touching the ground. 

Back home, we took the winter greens off the arbor and out of the cast iron tub. We piled them in the barrow and stacked them next to the fire ring in the backyard. Our goats were delighted and pushed through the gate to nosh on pine, cedar, and other tasty tidbits. 

We thought we might light a fire in the ring and welcome an early spring evening. 

But the wind blew the fire out, and we thought better of letting flames dance in the wind-kissed dusk. Maybe tomorrow. We will have to see what kisses await.