It Doesn't Matter It's the Fourth of July

July 4, 2010.  Sunday.

Situation:   Since this is the only day of the week I have to be up in the morning at a certain time (to take the hour-long commute and be at my work between 11 and 11:30), I set my alarm last night for 7:30.  I usually set it for 8, but I set it a little earlier because of the extra chores I have to do and because the clock has been slowing down, if not stopping completely, of late.  After I lie awake in bed for about fifteen minutes, I finally get up.  I consider not giving Squeak any canned cat food, since she turned up her nose at it yesterday, but when I look at her dish it’s empty, so I fork out a little wedge from the can and nuke it, per Moi’s instructions.  Again Squeak turns her nose up at it (will she eat it sometime in the course of the day?).  I measure out 4 cups of water for the coffee, instead of the usual 8, since I’ll be leaving the house by 10.  Mway is anxious to get out of the house, so I let her out before I put on my walking clothes.  Outside the peeps that are small enough to squeeze through the spaces of the chickens’ cage are already wandering around the yard; the bigger ones I have to let out.  I throw the flock some feed; Mway is running the perimeter of the yard and anxious to get going, so we start down the path.

State of the Path:  A small ground hog or a rabbit runs through the weeds by Moi’s garden pond.  I have to knock down a spider web that crosses the path.  I stop at the walled garden to look again at the plant I’ve been trying to identify.  This particular specimen has just a small cluster of flowers or buds, but it also has, as I discover for the first time today, a long green double-tubed fruit hanging from two of its stalks.  As I touch the fruit, a drop of a milky substance drips on my fingers.  I turn over one of the leaves – Audubon describes the witherod as having a leaf with brownish hairs beneath; this plant does not have this, so I feel confident that this is not witherod.  But because of the milky substance, I start thinking this might be some sort of milkweed.  I shake my head, thinking that maybe I’ve just been too thickheaded to recognize the common milkweed.  But looking through Audubon right now, I see there’s another milkweed, swamp milkweed, which I’m considering now as a candidate for this plant.  The fruit is described as an “elongated pod…long, opening along one side,” words which sort of match what I see.  The only thing is that the flowers are a deep pink – so right now I have to wait to see if the flowers on these plants eventually turn that color.

State of the Creek:  At the juncture in the path that leads to the clearing, Mway turns right, heading to the clearing.  I’m ready to go all the way down to the creek, but I think, what the hell, if Mway only wants to go to the clearing this morning, I don’t have a lot of time, I’m all right with that.

The Fetch:  Dew splashes up off the goldenrod as the stick falls and Mway runs after it.  I’m happy to see it.  More fetches than I care to count – but Mway needs to get her energy out.  It’ll be a long day before I get back home from work, and I’m sure I’ll have to take Mway for another walk then.

Addendum:  I get back – it must be around 6 pm.  Mway is a model of patience – after all she’s been waiting for this moment for 8 hours.  When I let Mway out the back door, the chickens waddle toward her, as if there were a possibility she might throw them some feed.  When they see me, though, they realize their mistake, and follow my foot steps first to the bin where we keep the feed then to the spot in the yard where I toss it.  Mway immediately takes two dumps on the path, both before we reach the walled garden.  Except that it’s very hot and dry, I don’t notice too much on the walk, other than that a few of the blackberries have turned from red to black and some of the flowers of the Canada thistle have gone to seed.  Down by the creek, I note that the second half of the double pond past the bend beyond the big trees has shrunk to about a third of its size since the last time I looked at it.  As I’m gazing at it, a frog leaps into the water, then hops from the water into a mud hole beneath the opposite bank – I think to myself, so this is where the frogs go.  Mway sees this also, then goes down to the water to slurp some of it.  Up at the clearing, I’m amazed at how oblivious Mway is to the heat, as she fetches the stick with her usual energy.  I note that in the brown patch of grass where I’m standing, the stick that during the winter had a weird fungus on it has now disintegrated into a pile of white flakes.  We play “Put it down” about two times, then on the way back to the house, I can’t help but notice that a bunch of flies have descended upon the turds Mway left in the path.