Watering the Yard

I have this little section in my phone that I put down writing ideas. I used to carry a little notebook and never was without a pen. There's something a little sad about how that's changed but I'm not sure what it is. 

I water the yard in the morning. It's amazing how easily something can become routine. I walk a route around the yard, carrying the hose. I water the snapdragons first, then rose and raspberry bushes, the herb bed, the herbs in pots on the porch and then my favorite, the raised bed.

I pull the hose as far as it will go and stand at one end of the bed. The shining arc of water sways rhythmically as I move the hose gently back and forth. The wood frame darkens from the spray as I make my way from one end to the other. The inch high sprout of corn that glows bright green in morning sun is near the end. The corn that I planted. All by myself, in a grid shape- because that's supposed to be the best way.

I glance at the pond. No need to fill today. There are several brown spots in the yard. We like to talk about why they might be there-the yard is new to both of us.

I don't mind the lighter patches. Sometimes, in the evening when I'm walking around looking for things to weed, I'll come across one of those spots. They feel good on my bare feet, different from the green grass. The brown spots are warm, like hay in a summer field. Reminds me of grandma's house in eastern Washington. Reminds me of her.

I soak the brown spots last.

Three knobs to twist before all the water is turned off. One at the handle, two at the faucet. Never seen that before but it makes sense to me. The hose lives on a hose rack-something else foreign to me. It's amazing how quickly you learn new routines.  I turn the crank to wind the hose, careful to keep out kinks and not to coil it tightly.

I check the strawberries. Almost. Glance at the cherry tree. Maybe three days. The raspberries. Only a few today.

The dogs are barking on two sides and I talk to them through the fence. "It's ok pups. I promise, I'm not going to hurt you."   Sometimes it seems like it helps.

The cats are at the slider, staring intently through the screen. They didn't come out with me today. I'm meeting a friend for lunch and I don't have time for cat watch.

I pad across the deck, open the slider. I shuffle the cats gently with my foot, "No. Get back. Nope. Back cats." In the voice that doesn't mean treats are coming.

No escapees.  I kick off what are now my 'outside' shoes and take note of the pine needles in the carpet just inside the door. I'll have to vacuum soon. I walk into the kitchen and start the water to boil for my coffee. Reward for completing my chore.

When the coffee is made, I go to the slider again. I open it, noticing the water droplets from only minutes ago are gone from the porch. It's going to be hot today. I go to the little table and chairs we set up there and sit down. I close my eyes and smile, listening. The birds are singing, the pond is bubbling, the dogs are quiet for the moment and I am at peace.

I open my eyes, take a sip of my coffee. My eyes travel the yard.
That rose is starting.
Looks like the bunny might have gotten to the plant in the corner. Hmm. I wonder if that's the bird they were talking about the other night.
I think I'll do some weeding tomorrow.