This colorful, vibrant painted bunting is our most beautiful songbird. Not my photo, but borrowed from Wikipedia, where you'll find more information about him. His wife is stunning: bright chartreuse, the color of a green parakeet. I've seen and heard him singing mornings and evenings from the top of the hackberry beside my garden, and this morning, I discovered one of the reasons for his celebration. Hornworms, on my tomatoes. I detained four, tried them and found them guilty of defoliation, denied their appeals for mercy, and sentence them to death by squishing--underfoot, since they are too large to squish them in my fingers. Actually, the bunting hadn't been doing his job. He should have eaten these when they were smaller. But maybe he's been too busy with grasshoppers. We have quite a few this year. If this bunting has any buddies, they're welcome to join the party. BYOB.
The first review of The Tale of Applebeck Farm is out, and nicely positive: "whimsical, fanciful, magical . . . a precious tale." That's the sixth book in the Cottage Tales series, coming in September. I'm planning a "Beatrix Potter Festival" next month, online--details coming in a couple of weeks. There'll be chances to win ARCs of the book and other goodies, so stay tuned. Meanwhile, back here at the ranch, I'm working on the seventh book and making good progress. Oh, my, I do love that dragon!
We've enjoyed a couple of cooler days (86 yesterday, a comedown from 106), and I can see the difference in the garden. The plants really suffer in the heat and were grateful for yesterday cloud cover and cooler temps. But the cool spell ends today, and we'll be back to 100+ by late afternoon. June set records here for hot/dry. In Austin, the average monthly temperature of 86.6 was the second highest on record; the average high of 99.1 was the second highest on record. 17 days of 100+. Did somebody say "global warming"?
Reading note: We stand now where two roads diverge. But unlike the roads in Robert Frost's familiar poem, they are not equally fair. The road we have long been traveling is deceptively easy, a smooth superhighway on which we progress with great speed, but at its end lies disaster. The other fork of the road—the one 'less traveled by'—offers our last, our only chance to reach a destination that assures the preservation of the earth. —Rachel Carson
