Summer, over the top

So we're in the breezeway shucking corn. A breezeway is kind of a New England winter air-lock: the continuous architecture feature that connects the unheated barn or woodshed or garage to the mudroom (the final lock before you get into the house, where you shed your muddy boots) and keeps you from being lost in the blizzard when you go to get an armload of wood. Ours doubles as a porch during bug season, which thankfully has just ended. So, we're shucking corn and admiring Great-Uncle George's daylilies, which Dad has been mowing down every year before they bloomed. This year has been so wet that haying got severely delayed, and the lilies bloomed so I was able to find them in the 6-foot-tall grass and dig them up. Now I have 6 washtubs full of daylilies and noplace to put them because I was racing the tractor and didn't have time to make beds beforehand. But I will this week.

SO we're shucking corn, and I step outside to throw the husks on the weed pile, and there's this CLOUD. Maxfield Parrish lived and painted some 70 miles from here. This cloud apparently was looking for his studio and took a wrong turn at Woodstock.