Season's first mowing

Despite what the countdown timer to the upper right says, Summer unofficially began today. After more fiddling than I wanted, the mower deck mounted on the  tractor and the back yard got its first haircut of the year. In fact, I even worked up a sweat, so it must be post-Spring in the North Country because it's almost never warm enough to break a sweat in our Spring time. We're lucky if the lakes become ice free enough to launch a boat for fishing opener. Remember, the front yard looked like this about a month ago:

there was grape jelly here a minute ago

Photo by J. Harrington

We've confirmed, through simultaneous sightings, there are at least three male  Baltimore orioles. They've been playing "No, it's MY territory" for the past couple of days and eating prodigious amounts of grape jelly. When the feeders get busy, there's a wild color combination among the male orioles, scarlet tanagers, goldfinches and multicolored woodpeckers of two or three species.

'suppose those orioles would notice if I grabbed some grape jelly?

Photo by J. Harrington

The Better Half transplanted the hanging buckets of pansies into planters next to the drive and added some herbs and other plants. Then she replaced the hanging buckets with some bright red and other flowers that I'll inquire about the names of when we eat dinner. The old home place may not yet be looking spiffy, but it's now looking more lively than it did a couple of weeks ago. If we're not careful, Eeyore and I might end up looking optimistic sometime soon. It hasn't snowed for a couple of weeks or so and though we've yet to see our first butterfly, the season is but young.

mid-April ground cover in the North Country

Photo by J. Harrington

The Tuft of Flowers

Robert Frost - 1874-1963

I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.

The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the levelled scene.

I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.

But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been,—alone,

‘As all must be,’ I said within my heart,
‘Whether they work together or apart.’

But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a ’wildered butterfly,

Seeking with memories grown dim o’er night
Some resting flower of yesterday’s delight.

And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.

And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.

I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;

But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,

A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.

I left my place to know them by their name, 
Finding them butterfly weed when I came.

The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,

Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.

The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,

That made me here the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,

And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;

But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;

And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.

‘Men work together.’ I told him from the heart,
‘Whether they work together or apart.’

********************************************
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.