Asian pears are in full bloom. Their white flowers are little white cups. Out by the pond, hens like taking a break on the bench. At times many more than three crowd onto the bench to gossip. Maybe I should be taking them tea and biscuits.

The latest brood of chicks is on their own. Last night was their first night on their own. This morning they woke up without their mother. Sometimes, independence is a traumatic experience for chicks. This bunch is taking it all in stride.

The Rainier cherries are about to bloom. With so many bees buzzing about this year, the cherries should be plentiful.

Each day, there are more petals dropping from the trees. At times today’s gusts looked blizzard like with blowing cherry blossom petals. The remaining blossoms glow in the evening sun. Last year, the sun never seemed to be out when the cherry trees were in bloom. This year, they are breathtaking.

The baby tomatoes are just about ready to be put into the hoop house. Baby tomatoes have a fresh, clean scent that calms the mind. Feeling unsettled, frazzled, nerves on edge? Smell some baby tomatoes. I planted plenty of Sungold tomatoes this year. Last year I planted some and not a single one made it to market. I ate them all. They were that good. This year I am planting more than I can possibly eat – or is it even possible to grow more Sungold tomatoes than you can eat?

Wind gusts have ripped clumps of cherry blossoms off the trees. The edges of the driveway look like snow. With this week’s cooler weather, the cherry blossoms will last a bit longer, but no matter how much you wish, in just a few weeks, they are gone.

The first rosemary flower has opened. Is it a curtsying dancer? A blue angle? A quinceañera dressed for her party? Tinkerbell?

Happy and old Sven are courting the hens out behind the tofu cabin. Still young, Happy has a long future ahead of him, and no doubt will be the father of much of the flock, eventually. Old Sven is looking pretty sad at times. He’s long past his glory, and sometimes I wonder if this will be his last summer. Just like the flowers, roosters don’t last forever. Neither do we.