Bounteous ‘sparagus, fresh-picked and wild,
O’erwhelms my recall of winter drifts piled.
I welcome June’s change in our late evening fare:
From stews & roasts hearty to greens oh-so-spare,
To spinach and ‘spar’gus in stir fries and quiche,
To delicate soups, light and deleesh,
To rhubarb in cobblers or crunchy-topped crumbles,
Perfect at bedtime and late breakfast scrumbles.
To quote Aunt Eller of Broadway’s Oklahoma fame—and no relative of mine—“June is bustin’ out all over.” We eat wild asparagus with nearly every meal: steamed, sautéed, creamed on toasted bagels, in vats of soup, some for freezing and lots for eating. Our volunteer spinach—rototilled last fall from bolted 2018 plantings—has liberated us from grocery store romaine and E. coli concerns, It’s crinkly and muscular, ample for neighborly sharing, and underpins our nightly salads. Recently planted garden rows are emerging: spinach, lettuce, corn, beets, cucs, and both summer and winter squashes. The green house is emptied of its peppers and tomatoes that were protected from nocturnal rodent raiders throughout April and May by resident guard dog, Toot, and are now transplanted outside. Ewes, with lambs at side, are on grass, and bulls, at last, are earning their keep.
As part of my spring ritual, I attended high school graduations of students that I love and that I taught as middle schoolers. I am proud of them for their achievements and goals. Among them are valedictorians and salutatorians headed to MSU as state FFA officers, to prestigious private colleges, and to military academies. I completed a commissioned painting for one of these students. As evidence of my insecurity, I was nearly sick with worry that she would not like it. Thankfully, it connected with her. I submitted three additional paintings to the national juried Watermedia show. The verdict on those entries is yet out. Yesterday, I finished a pencil drawing of our night drop pen in which ewes are clustered close together, sharing heat from each other and from heat lamps suspended over them, a scene of communal grace on a brutal night in early March that dropped to -32 degrees. I plan to donate it to the national Columbia Sheep Show and Sale banquet fundraiser upcoming in mid-June.
The yearling ewe destined for that same show and sale has been weaned from her lamb, de-wormed, halter broken, taught to lead, and is now getting a bit of grain to encourage weight gain. None of her competitors will have raised a lamb. Whether that test of her productivity will count in the judge’s opinion remains to be seen; if she does not sell, I will be embarrassed but happy to bring her home to rejoin our flock.
Dot and Dozer, one month shy of their first birthday, continue to make us laugh often, even as they excavate where they ought not, eat feed intended for triplet lambs, and chew on deck railings, flowers, and each other. They and Toot were undaunted by winter 2019, but they wilt in our current heat. We walk often to the canal where all three swim with the grace and joy of otters and emerge refreshed and ready to chase birds and dig for gophers.
Life is good.
O’erwhelms my recall of winter drifts piled.
I welcome June’s change in our late evening fare:
From stews & roasts hearty to greens oh-so-spare,
To spinach and ‘spar’gus in stir fries and quiche,
To delicate soups, light and deleesh,
To rhubarb in cobblers or crunchy-topped crumbles,
Perfect at bedtime and late breakfast scrumbles.
To quote Aunt Eller of Broadway’s Oklahoma fame—and no relative of mine—“June is bustin’ out all over.” We eat wild asparagus with nearly every meal: steamed, sautéed, creamed on toasted bagels, in vats of soup, some for freezing and lots for eating. Our volunteer spinach—rototilled last fall from bolted 2018 plantings—has liberated us from grocery store romaine and E. coli concerns, It’s crinkly and muscular, ample for neighborly sharing, and underpins our nightly salads. Recently planted garden rows are emerging: spinach, lettuce, corn, beets, cucs, and both summer and winter squashes. The green house is emptied of its peppers and tomatoes that were protected from nocturnal rodent raiders throughout April and May by resident guard dog, Toot, and are now transplanted outside. Ewes, with lambs at side, are on grass, and bulls, at last, are earning their keep.
As part of my spring ritual, I attended high school graduations of students that I love and that I taught as middle schoolers. I am proud of them for their achievements and goals. Among them are valedictorians and salutatorians headed to MSU as state FFA officers, to prestigious private colleges, and to military academies. I completed a commissioned painting for one of these students. As evidence of my insecurity, I was nearly sick with worry that she would not like it. Thankfully, it connected with her. I submitted three additional paintings to the national juried Watermedia show. The verdict on those entries is yet out. Yesterday, I finished a pencil drawing of our night drop pen in which ewes are clustered close together, sharing heat from each other and from heat lamps suspended over them, a scene of communal grace on a brutal night in early March that dropped to -32 degrees. I plan to donate it to the national Columbia Sheep Show and Sale banquet fundraiser upcoming in mid-June.
The yearling ewe destined for that same show and sale has been weaned from her lamb, de-wormed, halter broken, taught to lead, and is now getting a bit of grain to encourage weight gain. None of her competitors will have raised a lamb. Whether that test of her productivity will count in the judge’s opinion remains to be seen; if she does not sell, I will be embarrassed but happy to bring her home to rejoin our flock.
Dot and Dozer, one month shy of their first birthday, continue to make us laugh often, even as they excavate where they ought not, eat feed intended for triplet lambs, and chew on deck railings, flowers, and each other. They and Toot were undaunted by winter 2019, but they wilt in our current heat. We walk often to the canal where all three swim with the grace and joy of otters and emerge refreshed and ready to chase birds and dig for gophers.
Life is good.
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