Months ago my cousin was emailing me about how excited he and his wife were to be moving. The house they currently owned wasn't that long in their possession, and they loved it, along with the garden that came with it when they bought it. But they had decided they'd move from Georgia to New Mexico. Quite a decision in your early 80s. To move from the city where you were well rooted, where family lives, and friends of a lifetime.

One of their daughters lives in New Mexico, with a well established gynecological practise. She owns a ranch with a good large house. They've visited countless times over the years. And she persuaded them that they would enjoy living there just as she does, and they were convinced. Email after email, each more excited than the last ensued. Until the final week arrived for the move, and they were off! The euphoria lifted itself off the last email and enveloped me.

Nothing since. Not one little note. Silence. It's been months. The original plan was to live with their daughter until they were able to buy a house of their own. They're either beside themselves with joy, busy setting up household, or they're devastated by a decision that when carried through, has turned out to be a mini-disaster. And then, of course, there's COVID-19. The U.S. has been hit dreadfully hard. We in Canada on the other hand, are more fortunate.

And we in particular feel ourselves to be doubly so. We hesitate to embark on any trips now, and haven't. It's been a stay-at-home summer for most people. There are no complaints from this quarter simply because there cannot be any. It's getting on to late afternoon. I've decided to make a seafood chowder for dinner and I can smell the broth simmering on the stove with its vegetables. The fish, sole and shrimp, will be added shortly before serving. 

My husband just came upstairs from his workshop. The latest of his stained glass windows is nearing completion. I've finished doing the laundry, no more loads to take out of the dryer and the ironing is all done; just linen mostly. Jackie and Jillie have had their afternoon treat of chopped fresh vegetables. Earlier in the day we were out in the back garden. 

The tomato plant that I first saw a month or so ago in the garden when it was several inches in height and I wondered where it had suddenly come from, is now five feet tall, and sprouting flowers everywhere. And finally, I'm able to identify it as a grape tomato vine, for there they are, the first of its fruit appearing. The mystery of how it arrived in the garden remains unsolved. Birds often drop seeds in their droppings ... and come to think of it, Jackie and Jillie have grape tomatoes in their salads daily.

When we went out to the ravine for our early morning tramp through the woods this morning it was cool, after last night's rain and wind, but extremely pleasant with full sun. Our house interior in the early morning hours looks like a lit-up ballroom, the light almost blinding on its east-facing side.

We saw lovely yellow toadstools that had erupted overnight on the forest floor and though Jackie and Jillie looked everywhere, there were no elves to be found. Unsurprising, they're shy creatures and don't like to make spectacles of themselves. 

After a prolonged traipse-about, returning home calls for a further pause in the garden before entering the house for breakfast. Jackie and Jillie are as patient as they can be, but we won't be rushed. They'd eaten some cheese before we left the house and we had taken a plum along to divide between them while we hiked the trails.