Frosty, but clear and sunny. The Vanderbilt redbuds, flowering cherries, Japanese magnolias and other blooming whatzit trees have exploded overnight into fuzzy pink and white balloons. Our pastures are a tender green.
Last night--a chili cookoff at the community club, before the Friday evening dance, and I thought Brooke's veg chili made with Sulphur Creek black beans was just the best. I also finagled Miss Essie's Japanese fruit pie recipe, which is now scribbled on a napkin in the pocket of my raincoat.
At the park, afterwards, astronomy aficionados had their telescopes focused on our heavens: Castor, the Orion nebula, Saturn, and a green-tinged (due to optic filter) arc of moon silhouetted against black space. Bell's Bend is unusually fortunate in its dark skies.
This morning Tom, JeffJ, and Patrick started out to pick up the new (to us) greenhouse that has been donated to the farm, but got only just beyond the first bridge. I passed them on my way to the hospital: changing a truck tire, Jeff somehow with a bloody scratch on his forehead (but oriented, no focal abnormalities, and cheerful).
We also took in a friend last week, who appeared, distraught and in pain, on our back porch one night, temporarily needing the peace and quiet India's upstairs bedroom offers.
Eric and the farm gang have been working like dogs: up planting potatoes until 10 p.m. last Saturday night, but all in before the Sunday rain. (To say nothing about the beets, lettuce, and et cetera.)
Well, heaven can take many forms when you're busy and have friends with trucks in spring in a lively little corner of the world: spring peepers roaring down in the valley while you look at the far-off miracle of Castor's double star, trauma that's only minor, refuge in the shape of a cluttered little bedroom, a sharp blue sky, and a cluster of miniature daffodils. Even a taste of Miss Essie's Japanese fruit pie. But not too much.