of typos, rhubarb with ginger, and alpine meadows

Saturday morning


I read my posting from yesterday and am surprised at all the typos. I was tired last night, too tired to read before bed, which is a nearly sacred habit. My last memory is my daughter giggling happily as a I drifted off, because she'd decided to join me in bed and realized I wasn't going to insist she go to her own.

In true blogger style I won't patch up those typos, because to people who subscribe to this blog it will appear as an additional posting. Apologies.

Mozart is booming - my husband decided to get himself the entire Mozart collection for his birthday in April and we are working our way through it on Saturday mornings.

In just one week the alpine meadows that nearly surround us have shot up, so that our fence (a feeble gesture to keep unwanted seeds on the meadow side) has nearly disappeared. The rhubarb plant is not as scary as it was last weekend because Nick chopped much of it and made rhubarb ginger jam, with a lot of ginger. We sampled it this morning and it's now competing with his raspberry jam as my favorite.

Saturday, getting later

Time to go weed. Mozart will come at me from one side and Bernard's cows' bells from the other, for the girls, as I think of them, are starting to munch their way across the meadow above the house.