Memorial Day weekend.

So hard to believe that it's Memorial Day already. Celebrating this holiday always means the year is half gone, and Thanksgiving and Christmas are going to sneak up before you can say Boo! for Halloween.

The baby barn swallows on the back porch left their nest early this morning. They seemed to be ready yesterday, but they were just perched on the edge of that nest as they looked around at their new home. Look at that mesquite tree! How do we get there? Do these wings really work?

I kept watching them from time to time yesterday-- the binoculars always ready on the book table by the kitchen windows. The cats were watching the birds, the birds were watching the cats. The adult birds from that nest have swooped down on Sweet Pea countless times-- so close that he came running to the back door one day. I'm hoping that cat has been feather-threatened enough to stay away from the baby birds.

Mickey Kitty, my Marco Polo cat, hasn't been exploring lately. His last adventure was a couple of weeks ago, when he went trotting down the hill, staying close to the fence line but aiming for the pond in the front pasture. I happened to see that little black tail of his when I went out to check the mailbox and I stood in the middle of the road so he could see me clearly and I called his name. Mickey Kitty! Where do you think you're going? He turned around and looked at me, sat down in the going-to-seed wildflowers, then ran back towards the house. He cut across the lawn and jumped up on the porch, by-passing me altogether, most likely thinking that if he got near me, I would pick up his furry cat-self and bring him into the house. That little cat worries me. As small as he is, he looks even smaller outside, and Mickey has no fear. None whatsoever. I don't know if that's being brave or being careless.

The chickens...... they're having a fine time in the coop these last couple of weeks. We had an old abandoned ladder in the barn, and rather than throw it away (since it wasn't safe for us to really use) my husband carried it into the coop and we set it up there for the hens. They were confused at first-- anything new in their coop brings them to looking sideways at things. Within a couple of days, however, both Scarlett and Prissy were trying to establish just who was going to be sleeping on the very top of that ladder. I don't know who wins, because when I lock up the coop, they're both still pecking at one another, and when I open the coop in the morning, they're waiting by the gate to get out for another day of adventure.

The other hen of this year's group of three, Mammy, flies up to the roosting bar and just watches her two hen-sisters debating and pecking on top of the ladder. Mammy just couldn't be bothered with such details. Audrey, our oldest hen from last year's chickens, has been sleeping in the same spot on the roosting bar for all the time she's been with us. Audrey is the true coop-boss, but Scarlett and Prissy just don't know that. Nor do they care, because they spend so much time trying to out-do one another, whether they're on top of the ladder or out in the yard.

We have five plum trees near the barn, and they are all heavy with fruit now. We have been picking the plums-- little purple-skinned sweet red plums. Very sweet, delicious. The birds love them, the bees are attracted to them, and the hens peck at the over-ripe plums that fall to the ground and split open. I'm sure the raccoons and skunks are having a plum-party out there on the grass every night because there are hundreds of half-eaten fruit pieces in the yard every morning.

We're picking the choicest of the plums and I'm freezing them for the holidays. My husband makes Old English Plum Pudding every December, and this year's baked pudding will be made with the plums we're picking now, as well as with the pecans from our trees. I cleaned and peeled and sliced hundreds of plums this morning, and there are now six containers of plum-pudding worthy fruit in the freezer. When I was done, my fingernails were purple and red. It took me twenty minutes to get the color off, using countless cotton balls and half a bottle of nail polish remover. As soon as my hands were good and clean, I wrote "thin latex gloves" on my shopping list.

The weather has been very hot, with noon-day temperatures in the mid to upper 90s. The one-hundred degree mark isn't that far away. I cannot remember the last time we had a good rain. Not a sprinkling or a drizzle, but a good rain. Our corn plants are as tall as I am, and so are the tomato plants. We're anxiously watching the corn, to see how the cobs form and grow... and wondering how the stalks will support the corn as it grows. The tomato plants--- so bushy and full and green, and just one tomato has ripened so far. There are green tomatoes waiting their turn out there, but for the size of those plants, you would think each of the four would be carrying at least a hundred tomatoes. But what would we do with 400 tomatoes anyway?

My husband talked to one of the men at the Farmers' Market this morning. This particular man has written a book on Texas farming and growing, and he thought that maybe the big beefsteak tomaotes just aren't suited to our soil and our yard. He gave my husband some suggestions for different tomato species for next year. For now, we'll just keep watch on the tomato plants we have, and wait for those green ones to get red and ripe. So far, the night-time wildlife hasn't bothered our vegetable gardens.... probably because the plum-picking is too easy and too sweet.

Another day on the ranch. Another Memorial Day. Last year at this time, we were sitting on the front porch waiting for the two moving vans to arrive with our furniture and the 200+ boxes of stuff that we moved from Clear Lake to the Hill Country. And we never got to pick one single plum last year because we were so busy unpacking and settling into the new house. What a difference a year makes.