Big hand to the garden spider at the east end of the south porch. She has three egg sacks up. The third went up last night. I have no idea where the mates are coming from, but they obviously know she’s there. And she picked a pretty good spot for the sacks. They’re sheltered from the north wind, up out of the weather, and I’m not such a clean freak, that they’ll have to come down. They’ll empty in the spring. So, all in good time.

The air is unsettled this morning. Pacific moisture, the remnants of Hurricane Polo, is paying a visit. There’s also a slow-moving cold front dropping temperatures and playing footsie with the tropical moisture. We’re in for a fun few days of wet cool weather. That’s fine by me. I have nowhere to go, and I want to dig, so the rain will make it easier. I could have soaked the ground with a hose, but I thought I’d wait for the rain. Lazy?

When I moved from the Gulf Coast to the Hill Country of Texas, I was greatly relieved to be rid of the threat of hurricanes and tropical storms. Now I find myself yearning for them because it’s one of the ways we get the big rains that fill creeks, rivers, lakes, and aquifers. I say this because it looks as though one might be heading our way coming out of Mexico of all places. Hurricane Polo.

There was a roadrunner in my driveway as I arrived home yesterday. I took it as a good sign for no other reason than I like roadrunners, and I consider having one visit my home to be a good thing. It’s right up there with the foxes who come at night. And the tiny wren who sleeps in a nook on a cedar pole on my back porch. They’re little things and I’m accommodating them.

Yesterday was bulky trash day and I had a touch of bulky trash. So, out it went. I still have a lingering brush pile, but the thing about brush piles is that they decay. So, over time my brush pile will eventually become organic matter. It’s not the tidiest way to keep a yard but I don’t really consider my little plot of ground to be a yard in the traditional sense. Although, I have decided to buy a small mulcher to help keep the brush pile from growing.

It’s a cool summer morning in the hill country. The cats are fed, and I’m giving the trees a quick drink. We’re in a heat wave and the ground is fast losing water. Plants and grasses are drying up, almost everything is brown. I don’t know when we’re expected to turn the corner, but I hope it’s sooner rather than later. Although, two years of big spring rains have left the lakes full and the rivers running. So, all is not lost.

There are times in my gardens when I just let the plants do what the plants want to do, and this includes those plants we might call weeds. For instance, in the front yard by the big oaks, I’ve let the bindweed bind, and it’s traveled up into some low hanging branches on one of the big oaks. I actually think it looks good, which is a nice excuse for not pulling it down.

One of these days I might spend some time cataloging the spiders who call my place home. I saw a new one this morning on the screen door. One I’d never seen before, a crab spider, of the genus Xysticus. According to the Wikipedia page about them, they’re ambush hunters, which means no webs to grab me in the dark. I have no idea what he thought he might find on the screen, but I’m guessing he was going somewhere else and merely stopped to rest.

Spent most of Thursday driving around looking at the river. My river. The Pedernales. It runs through town, under highway 281. A powerful amount of rain fell west around Fredericksburg and gathered itself to run down the foothills of the Llano Uplift into the river. In Fredericksburg, the river crested at 34 feet. It spread out and lost steam as it got to slightly flatter ground. But it still rose to 25 feet in Johnson City.

It may seem odd, but I’ve loved all the places I’ve ever lived. East to west, north to south, any place I’ve ever called home always brought something to the table. I imagine part of the reason for this is that I never heard my parents complain, although there is a chance I wasn’t listening. After all, for most of it, I was a child, just happy to be. The bottom line, however, is still the same. I remember my surroundings with fondness.

Yesterday I wrote about driving slow through the night, but I’ve even started driving slow through the day. It takes an effort, however, because it feels as though I’m hardwired for finding the quickest way. But lately, I’ve opted for the back roads and the side roads. The slow roads, the ones with twists and turns. The ones with things to see.

Drove home in the dark last night from a musical event. Part of the trip was down a country road. Narrow. Winding. Twisty. Full of deer. I was going slow. I had the windows down, too. The woods pressed in around me. I could hear the cicadas, crickets, and frogs singing their nighttime melodies. It would stop as I drove through pasture, start again in the woods.

The weather feels uneasy these days as though it is having a hard time making up its mind about what it wants to do. Should it rain? Should it shine? What? How about a strong wind? Maybe a good calm? We’re having hot days, but there’s so much moisture in the ground it hardly feels like summer at all, and its nearly July. By now we should be baking. Instead, we have a sauna.