Photographed at 5:22 a.m. at my sunrise vantage point, where they were not showing color yesterday.
I like the way going to the same point at the same time — sunrise — every day lets you see the exact day different flowers bloom. And I love the happenstance that caused to dairy names — butter and milk — to pop up on the same day.
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Tina writes:
Down here, we call those first things collards, though I guess they aren’t the same. I lost the elderberries in a creek flood; my scuppernongs had some weird hive collapse, and Rocco the dog nibbled all the blueberries off the bushes before we could get to even one of them.
We still have 15 acres of so-so blackberries Rocco will nibble through, along with every unguarded cucumber, baby rabbit, newborn turtle, bluejay egg, and some of their elders. Plus whatever he salvaged from the chicken house fire next door, improved from rotting for a few months in tree stumps.
Tons of poke-weed, which I’m still afraid to eat. I’ll wait for the apocalypse on that one. But the tomato wine my handyman made from my less-than-perfect Purple Cherokees is two years into storage, very mild (ie. not shine), bitter and sweet. It smells faintly of tomato plants and tastes like the greatest aperitif besides the one made from artichokes. You could probably use it for perfume. Doesn’t Jo Malone do a tomato stem perfume? Aren’t her black-lined, coarse linen-covered perfume boxes the best boxes ever?
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