Jun 05 2011
On the Run
I was not a friend to the deer this weekend, having spent hours and hours mowing acres and acres of the high grass in which they like to make their beds. I was, however, a Hero of the Barn Swallows: they love it when someone mows because it turns into a feast. They swoop around the tractor like miniature blue
F-16s, picking off startled insects.
On Saturday during dinner, we watched from the window as two fawns raced around the newly mown field. They themselves seemed astonished by their speed. We certainly were, but the doe with them was probably wondering where she could put them to bed.
Earlier on Saturday, Jen gathered peonies to bring to a neighbor’s anniversary party.
Meanwhile, Sarah channeled her inner woodland nymph.
On Sunday, we were treated to the rare sight of a turkey more than three feet off the ground.
And, though they said it could not be done (and by “they” I mean my father), we set up the pencil-post bed we got at the George Cole auction last weekend. Elmer LeSeur, the assistant auctioneer, delivered today.
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