It was a day of doing, the drone of the tractor against the hum of the PTO and the shredding of the bush hog. The folks who keep their mules here in the dry months will bring them back next week, and bartered paddock mowing for a cord of seasoned oak and maple.
Tomorrow the rains return.
Despite the forecast, I'm hoping for at least a peak at the sun. It's an Easter thing, proving, perhaps there's a bit of the pagan in me, or maybe just the lingerings of a poem, and maybe before that, deep in the blood-brain ancestor, a dream of the Pentecost to come.
Company arrives Monday.
We have fresh compost ready to spread. DW and I have talked, and there will be a garden this year. I started to prepare the raised beds for herb transplants. The potatoes are ready for the ground but will keep until the dirt is ready for them. I will buy seeds Tuesday.
We put down the old cat last night.