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I woke up to this the other day.
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Husband was having his coffee, I was reading the news and Lord Dudley went running to the back door.
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Where a little inter species communication commenced.
I was all for letting our little back deck visitor in, but was prohibited to do so by my grumpy husband.
Boo to unadventurous spouses.
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Remember the picture I posted 10 days ago?
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My nemesis, momma red squirrel… doing what I assumed was chilling on the grass near our kitchen landing?
As it turns out, she wasn’t chilling.
She was splooting.
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While I’ve always believed I have a well rounded vocabulary, splooting has been noticeably absent.
Until now.
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The fur on their bellies is thinner than the rest of their body so in essence, they’re performing a heat dump.
Splooting.
There’s nothing like the satisfaction of learning a new ludicrous word.
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I think we’re down to two baby woodchucks now.
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There were originally seven…. and I’m choosing to believe momma just booted them out of the den as opposed to the more disturbing killed and eaten by predator explanation.
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The two remaining siblings stay pretty close together.
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Especially when feeding.
❤️
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Our second trip to the Blind Pig Tavern was shorter but no less wonderful than the first. Jumping back into their amazing craft cocktail menu, I tried a strawberry rhubarb margarita.
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I dislike rhubarb. But this was made with fresh strawberry purée and the rhubarb balanced the sweetness perfectly.
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The pole of shame, reserved for those who don’t pay their bills or stiff the waitstaff.
This visit was a quickie with just drinks and appetizers, but neither disappointed.
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Yes, it looks like they were wrapped in condoms, but the cold marinated shrimp with cherry tomatoes, spring greens and avocado in rice paper with tequila lime aioli was sublime.
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As were the wings and Philly cheesesteak flatbread.
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The pear mojito? Magnificent!
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Their array of dried fruit is impressive and rotates in clever little containers like this.
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The on tap beer list?
It’s folkin’ hoppy.
🤣
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Viola!
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The what seemed like never ending stone perennial garden border construction is complete.
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Yes, it’s much smaller than I wanted.
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But I’m pleased with it all the same.
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It was a lot of work and the husband did a great job.
But the best part? Our marriage survived all the arguments it caused.
Next up? Dirt and flowers!
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P.S….. I wrote this a few weeks ago. The lawn is actually the crunchy brown from yesterday’s post.
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This weirdo bush was in place when we moved in 20 years ago. It blooms well, in big fuzzy pink blossoms.
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Bees and butterflies love it, so even though it clashes with our red baby barn… it stays.
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In my front bed? A small salvia that doesn’t get any larger year to year but keeps hanging on.
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Then there’s my little daisy.
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She’s so bright and cheerful, I went back to the same nursery later that season and bought two more of her.
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But as you can see, her big sister is large.
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Soooo much larger than they were supposed to be. They don’t even bloom at the same time. Major daisy fail.
😳
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Another day, another layer of stone.
It’s back breaking work and though I kept offering to help… I got the look and strolled myself back inside the house.
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Every time I thought he was almost finished, I’d check back to find he’d removed what he previously laid and reworked the section.
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And when he knelt inside the border like that?
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It looked like one very expensive sandbox.
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Bateau – def. a light flat-bottomed riverboat used in eastern and central North America.
A bateau is a boat, but in my neck of the woods? It’s also a brewery.
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Perched on the river in a turn of the century mercantile building, we met the owners recently and had to check it out. And though the outdoor seating had a great view….
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It was hot, so we opted for indoor.
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Which also had a good waterfront view.
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I liked the vibe, and I liked the beer.
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I did not like the fact that my husband and our friend found the strategically placed cribbage board and left me twiddling my thumbs for an hour .
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But I joined the Maine Beer Trail and checked in accordingly.
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And I drank.
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It was called pucking sour… and it was, with cherry and pomegranate undertones.
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The husband came home from the gas station with something cradled in his hands the other day.
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A perfectly dried and preserved Monarch butterfly he found on top of the gas pump.
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Such delicate, beautiful creatures.
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He (she?) will reside on the auxiliary desk in our home office, with the hummingbird nest a girlfriend gave me and the pig made from nut shells I bought in Chinatown when I was a child.
🙂
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She’s baaaaack.
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And looking entirely too comfortable next to Casa River’s kitchen landing.
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But what’s even worse than her extreme state of chill?
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Her distended belly which leads me to believe she’s pregnant again!
😳
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River's world..... 