From the movie, The Three Amigos:
Jefe: I have many beautiful pinatas in the storeroom, each of them filled with little surprises.
El Guapo: Many pinatas?
Jefe: Oh yes, many!
El Guapo: Would you say I have a plethora of pinatas?
Jefe: A what?
El Guapo: A plethora.
Jefe: Oh yes, you have a plethora.
El Guapo: Jefe, what is a plethora?
Jefe: Why, El Guapo?
El Guapo: Well, you told me I have a plethora. And I would just like to know if you know what a plethora is. I would not like to think that a person would tell someone he has a plethora, and then find out that that person has no idea what it means to have a plethora.
Jefe: Forgive me, El Guapo. I know that I, Jefe, do not have your superior intellect and education. But could it be that once again, you are angry at something else, and are looking to take it out on me?
Okay, enough of that.
With the rain falling outside, we closed the deal Tuesday morning. "Today is the first day of the rest of your life," holds a whole new meaning. I'm sitting here in my living room with greenery on every side, and in every imaginable shade, as far as the eye can see. The birds have formed a choir in surround sound and a squirrel is hanging from a tree, trying to reach a feeder. So far, no good. And, it's not like he isn't trying. They are a persistent bunch. Tenacious, even.
Last evening, I walked barefoot around my yard. The grass beneath my feet felt wonderful. There was the remnant of a mud puddle in the driveway from rain the day before. I was sorely tempted to walk through it and feel the mud squish between my toes, as I did about a hundred million years ago, back when I was very young. Next time, for sure.
There was a bird on the feeder outside the kitchen window I had never seen. Didn't get to my camera in time. A new bird book is in order. I also see the Reader's Digest Complete Book of Gardening in my very near future. There is such a thing, right? I believe a friend had one years ago that seemed pretty complete. Lost it in the divorce, along with the goat hoof trimmers. Oh, life can be so cruel. Right now, though, he's in Alaska visiting his son and has seen whales, dolphins and sea lions, all while on an afternoon sea cruise. Between that and his description of a colorful boat boneyard, the stuff photo junkies get their fix from, I have officially stopped feeling sorry for him.
Anyway, back to my land baroness duties.
Today, I tend to the great outdoors. And, the day after that. And the next day after that. For all eternity. Or, so it seems. A responsibility I gladly shoulder.
I think my radishes are ready. She, she being the previous owner, planted a garden before I entered the scene. She didn't know when her place would sell and wanted to be prepared for the summer. I have an already-planted garden behind high enough fencing to keep out the deer. Oh, I forgot to tell you, two deer were here to greet me when I returned from the closing. I introduced myself while they munched on the shrubs defining the property line between the not-exactly-next-door neighboring farmers and myself. Their red coats against all that greenery was a pretty sight. I'm sure they'll be back.
In addition to the radishes, I have beets, carrots, beans, potatoes, onions, squash and cucumbers. Also inside the fence line of the garden are several wild roses, lilac and raspberry bushes, and a whole bunch of peonies. That's Minnesotan for 'a lot.' A Johnny Jump Up infestation is, sadly, going to require some serious culling of the herd. They are pretty, but they are many. Too many. It won't help to move them, because they are attempting to take over the perennial beds up front, also. They need to be dealt with and I hate ending the life of any living thing. Especially something with small yellow and purple faces. This will be hard.
These pretty girls are hanging from a large bush outside my bedroom window. They look like little orchids. Note to self: Add flower book to list. I apparently gave away too many of my books, in an attempt to lighten my load before leaving Santa Fe.
I just took a break and went out, ahead of the coming rain, to pull some very ready radishes. "Tares" have definitely come up along with the "wheat." The parable says to let them grow side by side until the harvest, but I don't think he had my garden in mind. Just wishful thinking on my part. I need to wash these radishes and then off I go again. The Johnny Jump Ups are fomenting a rebellion.