The thing about beets is

they take a devilishly long time to cook. But enough about that.

Company on the weekend -- daughter and my friend Sean, both of whom are fellow woods- walkers \ berry-pickers \ wine drinkers and such.


Lovely rock ... too bad we didn't notice it was covered in red ants until after we'd sat on it.

And here is Taylor, in the hammock, with her lap top.

[See those deliphinium behind her? The hummingbirds go crazy for them.]

And here's the both of us, in my garden.















And Jackson, swimming.














Today has been a nearly perfect day.

I woke well-rested (no small thing); ran 10k with Jackson (highlight: a stampede of cows, running along the fenceline beside us);

picked saskatoons;

weeded for a few hours (and noted the peas are almost ready, and lettuce and raspberries were picked again);

read a book (Gerry Hill's excellent My Human Comedy) and wrote a review of the same;

dealt with some publishing business;

rode my bike to the lake and went for a swim (plus began reading my next book for review);

came home and ate garden salad \ potatoes \ beets \ raspberries;

played piano;

cut the grass.

So, what would have bumped a nearly perfect day into perfection?

A cheque in the mail;

a call from a friend;

faster-cooking beets;

and some loving.