After yesterday’s blueberry pancakes (marking that it was Sunday), Bob took a long bike ride on his new electric bike. I tidied up.
Knowing that visitors are verboten, we have let our house become a sort of workshop and garden center. The porch is repository for anything from the outside: mail brought there by our gloved hands, Amazon deliveries, and food (purchased at the Co-op’s curbside pickup) all stay there for a day before being brought inside. A large cooler holds those food items that need refrigeration. Excessive? Perhaps, but I really don’t want to catch this thing.
In the afternoon, we did some gardening. It was a beautiful day, and the seedlings from our little indoor “greenhouse” were happy to bask in the sun. More of the garden was forked over, and the electric fence was refurbished and connected to the other electric fence that has been keeping the nearby beavers from building the equivalent of Hoover Dam behind our house. Critters beware!
Meanwhile, about 320 miles to the south of us, our granddaughters were making the best of their own isolation. They love to draw and paint, and now Eve, the 6 year-old, has begun to write poetry:
Be as strong as a mountain pushes down on the ground.
I am trying to be, Eve.