Mockingbird Hill Cottage

And so it continues. Yesterday afternoon, I stood up from my chair, thrust the phone between the slats of the blinds, and took this picture.

Rain, rain, go away. You won. Most days this spring have been rainy. Our well is full. Please move on.

Now.

It’s actually not raining at the moment, but it will start up again this afternoon.

One comfort: our cold temperatures will move on tomorrow. This is the last day of this nonsense. Our neighbors who live at higher elevations have woken up to snow for the past two days. So, I’ll only complain a little bit. I’ll be quite happy to see somewhat higher temperatures and I’ll be even happier when I can move around enough to brave the outside and check in on the gardens.

As Don said this morning, “Well, if you have to be resting your back, it might as well be on a rainy day.” He’s right.

More forget-me-nots appearing hither and yon. This time, between the pavers on the funky patio. One of my favorite things about gardening is the magic of self-seeders. Coneflowers are that way – for years, they have appeared in unexpected places on the property. The same with yarrow, which self-seeded from the big garden bed (and subsequently disappeared from that bed) to the little patch where I plant my seeds. For the past two years, they have self-seeded in the corral. Big patches of them! I love that. So, now I mow around them, letting them grow and flower.

This year, the forget-me-nots have moved to surprising places; the above-mentioned pavers, the gravel, the little hill that leads to the corral, and there are several in the memorial garden – fitting, I think. It’s as if they know where to go.

I’m reading several books at the moment; continuing with Paris in Winter,  adding in some Beverley Nichols books that I had waiting for me on the shelf. Have you ever read Beverley Nichols? He wrote the most delightful books about gardening in England. They were written in the thirties and forties. Nichols was a prolific author; writing fiction, non-fiction, children’s stories, plays – he counted Noel Coward among his friends – and had a flat in London along with a country house. The first country house was a thatched cottage. He eventually wrote about three different country cottages.  The first in the Allways (the fictional name for his cottage) trilogy is Down the Garden Path. The next – which I’ve just started – is A Thatched Roof.  

I should be living in England, you know. I’ve always thought that. If not England, then Paris, please. Both Don and I are about as British (ancestry-wise) as you can get and both of us started our careers acting in British plays. Don excels at British farces, especially the plays of Alan Ayckbourn; I was very good at Noel Coward. Both of use just knew in our bones how to do those pieces. I could do a cracker-jack of a British accent when I was in junior high school.

Let’s face it, we’re both Anglophiles.

Anyway, another day of back rest and rain. So books to read and some hot chocolate should come in handy.

Happy Tuesday.