An Ordinary Day

Yesterday was an ordinary day, but it was warm and sunny and I enjoyed every minute.  It was not a two-fer day...didn't need two pairs of socks or two shirts...didn't even need a jacket to go down to the barn.  After finishing their alfalfa breakfast, the goats stretched out on the slope to doze in the morning sun and chew their cud.  The hens were all outside, scratching for choice tidbits and gossiping.  The old almond tree in the northwest orchard has burst into a pale pink cloud of blossoms.  Daffodils are heavy with buds, promising their pools of sunshine soon.  I do have some miniature daffys, but I really prefer the big, blowsy King Alfreds.  I did a load of laundry and Frank and Pearl played tag around my legs as I hung out the wash for the first time this spring.  I did get some housework done, but outdoors kept calling me through the open front door (it was that warm!).  Surrendering, I grabbed the rake and got a start on the blanket of leaves in the front garden.  The oaks are totally barren now, so it's not an exercise in futility.  Raking only under the hedge by the windows and clearing the pathways, there was still a mountain of leaves to move down to the slopes, where the wind will take over the rest of the clean up.  I was told when I first moved here that there would always be one more snow after the dogwood trees bloomed.  I scoffed at what I thought was a local legend, but found that it's true every year, and the dogwoods haven't blossomed yet.  So it's too early to uncover the herb gardens and iris bed.  The thick blanket of leaves there will protect the young shoots just now pushing up.  I set a loaf of golden yellow egg bread to bake while I did chores, ready to come out of the oven when I came back to the house after putting the girls to bed at dusk.  Warm bread with butter and my neighbor Joel's gift of his tart-sweet homemade blackberry jam was the perfect dinner after an ordinary day, made extraordinary only by a sense of beauty and accomplishment.