Settling in for the Summer

Lovely things happen at the lake.

donotknowwhatkindtheseare

I have a neighbor connected genetically, I’m sure, to the first lady who strolled in Eden. Where Connie walks, flowers spring up around her feet. Many here are gifted in the floral arts but Connie tops them all. How fortunate I am that (1) she loved Mike and (2) she loves me and (3) she LOVE LOVES our little spot on the end of the island. She hired herself out to mow my grass so when I arrived, it was nice and neat.  And then she took it upon herself to spread a little Connie magic to my otherwise sad flower boxes so they are now smiling and I can enjoy her handiwork up close.

Connie also grows an eating garden so I know I will enjoy tomatoes and green beans later in the summer. But what is THIS? A knock on the door and there she is, smiling with a bowl of the first strawberries of the season. They are (were) perfectly red and plump. My mouth got juiced.

Next to that bowl is a jar of homemade jelly. Just down the street, brother-in-law Jim’s bushes are blooming. This jelly is from last season, with promises for more to come.

Jim’s beehives did not just survive the coldest winter. They thrived. He told me that when he removed the hive lid  (it has a real name), the bees poured out like a waterfall. He’s getting ready to transfer some to a new home, but first, what is THIS? Real honeycomb?  Full, FULL of honey?  Yes. Yum. For the uninformed, honey comb can be (1) drained for its honey or (2) cut up and eaten full of honey or (3) cut and placed in hot drinks or (4) did I mention, EATEN???

So, eating is good right now.

How quickly it goes from this to finished

And outside my window, nephew Caleb is putting the finishing touches on my new pergola. I had told him what I wanted. He wisely knew I wanted more so he just built what I needed.  Soon --- tonight --- I will sit outside with my white wine and watch the sun go down from my deck.

So life is lazy and fine right now. 

My favorite sight, however, does not involve edibles OR me --- down the street, I walked past a front porch swing. On that swing perched a little girl, so little that she had to slump down for her toes to touch the porch. Just enough to get her swing on. She had placed a small packing box over her head. She had cut out a square for her eyes and then places for her shoulders so the box fits down over her chest. She was swinging and singing. And dreaming of great things.