……one of the farm boys is mowing the lawn, probably for the last time this season.
The dogs are digging in the pasture (and looking a bit guilty).
Willow is eating her supper of ground grain.
The chickens are scratching and searching, except for one gold hen. She’s determined to set on eggs. She and I have the same conversation every day: “honey, you should be out enjoying the last few warm days instead of sitting in this nesting box. It’s too late in the summer to have babies. And the eggs are most likely not fertile anyway.” She just gives me that brooding look and continues to sit. Everyday I gently pick her up and take the eggs the other hens have laid there, then place her back on her spot.
Maisy is allowing her big, fat,baby to nurse~ still.
Rachael is doing homework in her room so she can have tomorrow and Monday completely free.
My oldest, the sailor boy, is playing “dive-team” in the land of almonds and ever-green gardens.
My beloved is far away, taking care of the sick and injured in the cold snowy brutal north.
The youngest farm boy is at his job at a local BBQ joint. He called on his break to see what we were doing. I think he wishes he were home.
I’m fixin’ supper: a casserole of layered zucchini, onions, tomatoes, hamburger and cheese to be popped into the oven at 375 until bubbly. Garrison Keillor is on the radio and the air smells like summer instead of early fall.
Paradise: just north of nowhere.