My porch extension is done for now.
DG showed up in time to hand me the last few paver stones. Plastic sheet beneath, a good layer of paving sand, the pavers and natural stone and other odd bricks make it look like it *belongs* there. Dirt atop, and worked into the cracks. Should have room to get Alyssum spilling over the biggest natural stone.
I could use four more to round it out and finish it off, but it's done. I have no skin left on my hands. Knee is skinned, the other bruised. I'm sunburned, of course. I'm exhausted, and I ache. People, I have CONTACTS in. No glasses for the Pooka!
And I'm utterly hopelessly expansively content. Happy. I *love* my yard.
I have small unopened blooms on my pumpkins, squash, and larger open ones on the zucchini. An abundance of tomatoes growing. Haven't really checked much today, work was concentrated on the porch area, so I don't know about the beans, peas, and okra.
The first planting of zinnias now have definite seed heads and will blossom soon. Thinned them out a bit more and tries replanting to see if they'll survive. All of them have so far, so I'm Happy.
I found lady bugs, yes, lady bugs in my garden! And there was much rejoicing, yay.
I have blue jays that chase the crows away and snatch wasps right out of the air. My birds all have feeders and extra goodies to keep them around. The squirrels have already eaten the hanger off one of the seed bells. I don't mind the squirrels at all, and we have enough feeders that it isn't a big deal at all.
... Honey? I'm home.
Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.
Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.
Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.
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