I was reading some Le Guin and eating my oatmeal when I realized there was a discussion going on outside, between a crow and a songbird. Thinking about the outside world made me realize that I hadn’t seen any bees, since the Day of the Dandelions. So I took my book outside, to sit with the flowers.

bee balm

Crow wars were going on, a boundary dispute, I think. Five went southwest fast, and one returned to sit on the telephone wire. “Caw caw caw caw caw”, and then the return, another five caws, back and forth. Then a return to daily business, and I returned to my book.


Unabashedly proud of these; petunias grown from seed saved from petunias last year. It would be good to honor this feeling, and set up something for the winter, to start my own seedings.

My yard tends towards chaos; there’s a strip between downspouts that we’ve just sort of abandoned; It gets mowed maybe twice a summer, and I watch for interesting-looking things sprouting. I have a small stand of woodland sunflowers, probably ten plants that I’m waiting to see bloom, all coming from the first two, two years ago. The daylilies and a wild grape vine are having their own conflict there. And white clover runs in an arc along the corner of the yard, with a cluster of butter-and-eggs acting as its center point.

A pot of bush zucchini;


I can’t convey the shock value of these orange blossoms. And little zucchini coming along!

I have a garden every year that I can, but this year it seems to mean more.