fading colors —
filled with busy bees.
Are they storing up honey for the winter now?
It’s mid-August in the garden jungle.
We are filling bouquets with Gomphrena, my wedding crown flowers;
. . . thinning Diakon Radishes to be harvested in the fall;
. . . gathering Mouse Melons (otherwise known as Mexican Sour Gherkins) for doll-house picnics;
. . . picking Nasturtiums for our baby botanist to dissect;
. . . admiring babies in the cabbage patch;
. . . finding insects to draw and paint in our nature journals;
. . . and filling bowls and bowls with blackberries.
We’re out for an after-dinner walk, and I am watching my brother with his son. Julien has big ideas to share with his papa. He jumps up and down and grabs his papa’s hand. He looks up into his papa’s face with such conviction. Is he talking about fishing? A walk to the cheese pond? The size of the carp they spotted this morning? I love the way these two share in their wonder of the natural world. It’s contagious.
Last spring Ellen had a writing assignment to describe her favorite place. She wrote about our chicken coop. There were quite a few lines, but I particularly remember the ending: “My chicken coop is brown and dirty. It smells bad. And the chickens love it!”
This girl loves her chickens almost as much as her chickens love their coop!