A Saturday Caesura
By default Saturday is chore day at our house. Between the two of us we did laundry, cleaned the floors and a bathroom, changed oil and spark plugs in the quads, set out the tomato plants, fixed the mini-greenhouse, planted beans and squash, repotted the succulents, sharpened the mower blade, mowed the front yard, discussed a front yard make-over, made granola, pulled weeds, and folded clothes. Ate lunch.
Then we pushed pause on all chores, tossed jackets, snacks, water, camera, binoculars, bug dope into the truck and went exploring. Did we see anything new and different and exciting? Not really.
Our outing took us into familiar territory, but sometimes the familiar is a welcome comfort, especially when the trees are all dressed up in sprightly spring green and the fields have freshly groomed faces and ponds sit quiet and still so the clouds can admire their reflections. We saw baby leaves on wild rose bushes and wild strawberry plants with tiny white precursers to tiny red berries. A pair of buffleheads glided, rippleless, along the edge of a dugout; a hawk perched in a tree watching, watching. The black bear turned out to be the open end of a big culvert. The cows in one pasture had babies; the horses in another had none.
Such ordinary everyday living and moving and growing, but did we come back feeling refreshed and content? Oh, yes.