June morning
Paid subscribers will be getting a sneak preview of the new novel this week.
It feels like June at last. The woods are dense and green, and through the mist of last night’s rain, the sun is gleaming through little glowing pockets. It has been a slow spring, but already next week begins the annual family visit of our daughter and grandsons we call The French Invasion. It is the core of our summer. There’s lots to do before they arrive, and maybe it will get done. It usually does.
Another of those decent guys came last week armed with a chainsaw, a small, but mighty tractor, and amazing skill. In a single day, he hauled away the remains of a dozen fallen ash trees and cut down a dead crabapple. On a wooded property there is always more, mind you, but he has cleared the way for my new willow tree to grow near an artesian spring, for a small grove of witch hazel, and for the beginning of the new orchard. Our neighborhood was built on the remnants of an orchard. We have lost one tree after another over the years, and I am excited to start again.
Gardening soulmate, Joe, came yesterday, and began a new garden for me. I’ll be able to see it when I’m sitting at the piano. We talked a lot. He’ll be back today.
We have, at last count, 37 million chipmunks, all of whom have built a network of tunnels and holes more complex than the New York sewer system. The robins and house finches have fledged. I have yet to see the fawns or the young turkeys, but I know they’re out there among the dense foliage. I need to cut some of the undergrowth back again. I don’t want coyotes to have a hiding place too close by, and I like to see who else is out there.
My new closet with shelves and pegs is finished, and last night, when I should have been in bed, I spent some time unpacking boxes of my own novels, which had been stacked haphazardly and inaccessibly. It will be so much easier to find what I’m looking for now, before an event, and my—occasionally limited—sense of order will be restored.
I have returned to my habits of early rising to write, so by the time the distractions of the day begin, I have already finished my primary work. It’s coming along. I like to keep in touch with you all here, but now I need to buckle down.
Auggie, who is here with me, would like his tummy scratched.
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Come and hang out with me, the dogs, and this stalwart little community of good people, none of whom are in the least bit crazy—or at least, only in a charming way. If you can’t afford a paid subscription, you can help by sharing and spreading the word. And you can always still read and comment.
Also: dog photos.
Paid subscribers will eventually THIS WEEK receive a sneak preview of the new novel.
Be of good cheer.
JFR
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And now for your gratuitous dog photo:
I wonder if your 37 M chippies are related to my smaller clan of only 32M. As it happens while I was typing this one ran across my feet on the deck. Perhaps he was hoping to hear about cousin Ferdinand?
Kisses to that patient, beautiful face.