Saturday Farmer's Market - Still Maintaining

Created by Heather at Capricious Reader, and now hosted by Chris at Stuff as Dreams are Made on.

Maintenance is the word of the day (and week, and ...) Weeding and watering make up the bulk of my chores right now. Keeping the garden thriving during this heat, while cutting back on water consumption, is a challenge. (I told my husband that he really doesn't need to shower every day. A little Vick's under the nose works in the forensics shows.)

I do have some projects lined up, and when I get my hands on the money (and manpower) I'll begin to tackle them. A second, taller, cold frame is on the list, as are a couple of raised beds, and a vertical planter for my basil. I also need to plant my Olive Tree and transplant the Orange tree.



There are also some things we would like to do, like make a little patio up front and put in some paths. And we still haven't completely beaten back the invaders that killed our mature trees, so that needs to be addressed.

I am having surgery this week so I will be out of commission for a while, and I'm not sure how much I will be able to accomplish for the next month.

But right now, I'm playing with my camera and doing what I can. By the way, can anyone recommend a good book on digital photography? There are so many, and I don't know which to choose. In the meantime . . .

Here's 

Benny

and  

Joon

This photo reminds me of a watercolor painting.

This is a pair of Squirrels that dropped by to use the Bird Bath.

I kept shooting as they ran around. (And I have a shot that might be considered X-rated.)

But I don't want to get my blog flagged, so . . . I'll keep it to myself.

How about a few

 Gratuitous

 Bird shots

and

Roses

Bright Star
- John Keats

Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art—
   Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
   Like Nature’s patient sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
   Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
   Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
   Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
   Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.