Well, my long weekend plans have been temporarily derailed. After spending 2 1/2 hours chitchatting with the voluble wheelchair-bound lady who wants us to do her estate sale, I came home to pack, only to have developed a migraine on the short drive. Nausea, light sensitivity, the whole bit. I sent Audrey a text, explaining my predicament, took some heavy-duty painkiller, and went down for a nap. And I still felt lousy after I got up. Theoretically, according to my revised itinerary, I'm supposed to get to Savannah by 1 PM tomorrow, so that I can spend the afternoon with Audrey and her children, so I dearly hope that I wake up to find the discomfort and queasiness has finally passed. On the bright side, I didn't have to drive in the rain this afternoon--the clouds rolled in from the southeast while I was unconscious on the couch. The change in barometric pressure with the arrival of the storm may have contributed to my misery, come to think of it.
There are tiny cucumbers on my cucumber vines, peapods on my pea vines, and blossoms on my tomato plants. My lettuce is slowly coming up, as is my parsley. My onions never sprouted. I think I recognize a couple of tiny bell pepper plants amongst a thicket of volunteer tomatoes (Really, why did I buy tomato seeds? The compost was full of them, so I could've saved myself $1.50.), but they are not robust, and I doubt anything will come of them. My blueberry bushes are laden with pinkish berries, and the new broccoli I put in has sprouted, though something appears to be eating the leaves already. I found an almond--or at least something that very much resembled an almond (I researched the leaves and they look the same)--rooted in some compost, and have given the tiny tree (it's only 6" high at the moment) its own pot. My banana tree remains in a pot too, since until I can create some sort of large area of well-drained soil, there's no point putting it in the clay-heavy ground, where its roots will rot and it will die. When I grow up and have money, I would love to have a greenhouse.
I've been catching a toad almost every evening the last week. I like toads. I pick them up gently, admire their plump wartiness, and then release them into my flowerbeds. One that lives in the vines around my broccoli is the size of my fist, and a handful of smaller ones traipse nightly through my front yard. And there's a whole daytime crew of little lizards and skinks that leap away in terror when I walk down the hedge with my watering hose. I haven't seen my wee garden snake again--perhaps it was so traumatized by the experience of being caught twice in one day that it slithered into a neighbor's yard, preferring harassment by one of their hyperactive bedroom slipper-sized dogs to being photographed by me.