Well, another Memorial Day weekend has come and gone. First weekend up north for many, first weekend of yard work for many others. Count me in that last group — I spent Saturday cleaning up the flower bed at the barn. It had gotten long in the tooth, for sure:
Four feed bags of weeds, 20 bags of mulch and all day later, it was time to pull the yard tractor around to the side of the barn (to return composted dirt to the big pile) and head for home:
I was so tired. I don't know how I was able to lift my fork to my mouth for dinner, but I am very grateful that David cooked that night. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
You can't deny the benefits of a hot shower — between that and a full stomach, I perked up enough to cast on for my Kashmir stole, from Rowan's Classic Alpaca book. Unfortunately, I haven't gotten any further than that, either. It is odd to me that the row ends in the middle of a pattern repeat. Maybe I'm just being thick-headed.
Seems pretty small stuff, considering what happened to those in Hugo who had their lives upended yesterday. Sunday's tornadoes began just across the highway from our house -- quite close enough, thank you -- but the storm gained enough power in the next 15 minutes to decimate a neighborhood and kill a 2-year-old boy, who was blown into a pond in his back yard. Just like that, the funnel was gone, just as quickly as it had appeared.
And that family will never be the same.