By Robert Louis Stevenson
How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!
Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
River and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside–
Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown–
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!
We are very busy in our new yard. We swing. We recite poems about swinging while we’re swinging (part of a formidable list, yes?). We count sprouts. We write in our field journal. We get very, very dirty. We play with the home-made floam that’s too messy for inside. We play baseball and terrier soccer. We water new sod.
And while the lack of scrubby has scared off our goldfinch family, we have found some other wildlife. Bugs. Grubs. Worms. And . . . a small brown rabbit whose clothes got stuck in our yellow hose. . . .
Presently, we put up his jacket and shoes in the carrot patch so he could find them again. No rabbit pie for this Lewis home (other Lewises prefer their rabbit dredged in flour and browned and then baked. I prefer mine with skin on and hopping through the yard.).
The home-made topsy-turvy tomatoes just gave me their first ripened fruit this morning. Our Kouza is gorgeous still. The sunflower house is sprouting. And the summer bulb bed is ready to pop.
We can hardly resist calling the yard a metaphor for the previous year. I prayed a long, long time ago about fixing it, saying, “Okay, Lord, all I know is when it gets done, it’ll clearly be straight from You.”
The whole thing makes us smile as we have our daily PB&J picnic. It really is a stone monument to how the Lord has helped us thus far.