A light frost has spread across the porch, the steps, the yard, and out onto the pasture. Summer is late to arrive. Warmth has been a flighty and cherished feeling. A vague expression that comes and goes so quickly, tempting and taunting, but never remaining long enough for us to grasp and hold onto. Rain has been bountiful. Hail storms plentiful. The land smiles languidly with lush green hues and lazy rolling clouds. The lettuce in the garden grows thick as unwanted weeds in a fallow field. Though tomatoes and peppers and squash, oh, these are but things we see pictures of in seed catalogues up here.
I could not have chosen a better year to begin planting trees around the Little Cabin. They sky has blessed them regularly. Although we hope to plant every year, I do not know of a better time to have started. Now. I suppose that is usually the best time to begin, isn’t it?
We are home for the week, busy and catching up on work on the ranch, with our guests, with our horses. At times, I wonder if it may not be easier at the ditch… it makes you wonder. It is summer. If we were not busy, we’d be doing something wrong. That’s survival up here. When it rains, it pours, like the seasons… we learn to flow.
Watching the ranch take shape with our regular projects is like watching the garden grow. Suddenly, there is a blossom in that garden, where just a bud promised yesterday.
Down by the Little Cabin, which often seems so far away this time of year, but a haven for us, for our guests who wander down there and become soaked by another surprise downpour… projects continue, slowly but surely, one grain of sand at a time.
Alas, this one, though not fancy, was essential. Can you imagine a better room with a view?