Foreground, background, blooms all around.

June, the plum tree, has four varieties grafted to her dwarf trunk. This branch has yet to set fruit in the years we’ve had her.

I’d yet to prune her in the years we’ve had her.

This picture was Friday and then DH and I left the little loves at home (with his folks) and set off to a resort up the road a smidge. It was our fifteenth anniversary last week (what!?) and so we celebrated with a night of (awful) sleep, a fine dining (delicious) dinner, and an old favorite action movie playing on cable. It was splendid.

Today, the branch is ensconced in blossoms and I’m hopeful the fruit will set before the next storm unleashes downpour. And I’m hedging my bets we’re done with freezing (last average frost is a week or so away and the ten day forecast looked promising. I put out beans and corn today…)

Or perhaps this branch never fruits precisely because it blooms too soon in the spring and the rains take away any chance.

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Star light.

I hadn’t seen the stars in untold time.


My screen painted in peanut butter. I can’t tell. Is that in focus?


“That’s pokey, mama. Don’t touch it. You’ll get hurt.” 

Ah, no, bug. It only looks pokey. Touch it. It’s ok. 


“That’s a weed, mama?” 

No, honey. That’s corn.

“That’s not corn, mama. That’s grass.”


“I planted beads, mama! Patios and I planted lots of beads for you for them to grow.”


“Those aren’t my ‘matoes, mama. My ‘ ‘matoes are at school.”

“I want to take pictures, mama.”