Peter's Orchard
I'm not a great photographer. In fact, I suck pretty bad.
It was a gorgeous day yesterday.
I'm not a great photographer. In fact, I suck pretty bad.
It was a gorgeous day yesterday.
For some crazy reason known only to ourselves, we call Peter's Orchard "PeePee's Orchard."
We're all sillier than hell.
Daisy and Rosie frolicking. I had just let Rosie walk in muck, so it looks like she has little black socks on. Although you can't really see that in the photo.
I took this photo and gasped at Mrs. Fruit's shockingly white, Swedish legs. I think there must be a vitamin D deficiency somewhere.
Where Mrs. Fruit and I spent Sunday afternoon. We were the only people in the park for some reason. We spread a blanket on the ground and read and napped. I felt like I was in a 19th Century British novel, minus the grapes and cheese. And corsets and body odor.
If you look carefully under the pampas grass you'll see a Rosebud Cuteashellius, native to these parts.
Mrs. Fruit's herb garden. I have tomatoes planted there and put the blue birdbath in there as well. She designed, built and installed the fence.
This is the other side of the garden. The building is Mrs. Fruit's woodworking shop.
This is the right side of Mrs. Fruit's flower garden. It was entirely gravel and she dug it up herself and planted this beautiful array.
Spring-time flowers. I decided to do no maintenance on the roses this year, unlike last year when I diligently fertilized and pruned. Didn't make a damn bit of difference.
Our backyard in the spring. The white azalea was a gift from my grandmother on my 39th birthday.
Our little terriers, Rosie on the left, and Daisy on the right, looking rather like a ferret.
