Because it is almost safe to put plants in our gardens in Maine (technically, we could have frost until Memorial Day), Rachel picked me up for a plant-shopping expedition this morning. It's a pip of a day, bright and sunny, with a brisk breeze to keep the dreaded black flies at bay. We started at the local fairground where a sale was going on. It was busy, and a long line of folks smiling happily and chatting to each other over their armfuls of purchases. We left there empty-handed but pleased to have experienced it.
Next, we went to one of my favorite plant nurseries. Rachel wisely brought the baby stroller and let me push the Owlet around. It did triple duty, not only keeping the baby safe and happy but working as a walking aid for me and my 17-day-old knee, and I could balance a big box of plants on the top of the thing. I walked through every greenhouse, inhaling the heady scent of sun-toasted plants and soil. After the long New England winter, it is a delight to see things growing and plan where I will tuck each bright potted thing, all brimming with promise.
We filled the back of Rachel's car with our brilliant bounty. I felt giddy to see it.
The Owlet took advantage of some lovely dirt at the edge of the parking lot. She plopped down with deep intent and sifted the pebbles and gravel through her tiny fingers. She was utterly absorbed in the moment, as I plan to be later when I fill my front flower bed with marigolds, petunias, and more.
As if the day could not get any better, I received a text message from farmer Cheryl. "Couple of cows coming after lunch."
It was only a short time before the stock trailer backed up to the gate. Mike nimbly unloaded Moxie, a Jersey, and Marilyn, a Holstein, and walked them through the backyard and into the pasture. After a winter of eating hay, they barely acknowledged their change of venue, just dropped their heads to eat the fresh new grass, and looked instantly content.
Father Bluebird paused with a bug in his beak, watched the bovine parade, fed his chicks, and headed back out to find more grub. The goats will soon get over their astonishment at having giant new pasture pals, but I will spend the next weeks feeling delighted whenever I look out a window and glimpse a cow.
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