My mother had beautiful hands. Her fingers slim, nails always perfect. My daughter was fortunate and inherited her Grandmas beautiful hands.
We spent the morning working at the wood pile. E runs the splitter and I stack the wood. Anyone who has beautifully stacked wood in ordered neat rows is not stacking arbutus with their fir. Some of the pieces are curvey and awkward. If I can get the seven foot stacks somewhat even and securely upright, I figure I’m doing okay…
Taking into consideration I’m only five foot something, (I’m shrinking) and I’m stacking wood over my head with two wrists and one shoulder made of titanium, I’m pretty pleased with my progress. The big wood shed is now full on both sides,. There is maybe five and a half cords of wood with yet a huge pile of rounds left to split.
But the weather is good (27 degrees) and we are diligent in our time management. A few hours working on wood, a few in the garden, a few sitting on the deck and a couple drinking wine with family at the other end of the island. All in all a good day.
As I sat on the deck taking pictures of a cormorant fishing at the cut
I could hear wings flapping in the house. I went in to rescue what I assumed was yet another hummingbird. Lo and behold it was a swallow. That was a first. What a beautiful blue colour.. He knew I was there to help and came into my hand easily. He flew away happily once he had caught his breath and calmed down.
Beautiful bird, but as you can see ugly hands, chipped nails. I obviously had been working in the dirt all day. I have always taken comfort in the knowledge that I may have ugly hands, but when the revolution happens I will never be mistaken
for the Bourgoise.