FIRST THINGS FIRST

So as I turn the key once again I'm still awed by the vast expanse of the lake.

We tend to use the side door and come right into the "lake room", almost all glass with a sliding glass door out on to the outside upper deck. I have to of course open that door immediately so that Woof can be the first one to step out and check out the beach. We added all the glass and the deck soon after we moved in, and the whole area looks and feels like the view from the deck of a ship. We have four cherry red umbrellas that attach to the rail for shade...( I bought them at a ninety percent discount sale...and when they're all open we often get mistaken for a Chinese restaurant or a beach cafe...but what the hell.) That deck is great for coffee in the morning, and a Lemoncello while the sun sets. Of course I've added flower boxes with matching red geraniums just like any respectable gay man would do.

Woof expects a walk down the wooden steps to the beach before I even unpack the twelve matching pieces of Amelia Earhart luggage from the car, and of course I oblige. She's finally outgrown (for the most part) the temptation to find a delicious dead fish to nibble on, and is happy to prance through the water as we take in the fresh breeze and cool water.

Next is a trip to the garden across from the house...with almost an acre of land...mostly in full sun, I feel like I have an extravagant blank slate of ground to grow anything I can imagine. Scott is a local farmer who plows a big area for me every year, and I plant about three dozen tomatoes, zucchini that grows as big as  torpedos sometimes from week to week, eggplants, cucumbers that end up as pickles, broccoli that my friend Kel shared his salad recipe for, and all kinds of peppers. I grew an artichoke last year that cost me about eight dollars...and I couldn't quite justify the cost, so I'll wait till I get to Jerusalem someday to learn about them.

The flower garden keeps expanding...and expanding. It begins under a big old iron arbor, and consists of winding grass paths that start where I planted about a gazillion daffodils, to a rose garden dedicated to my partner's mom, with a little plaque and surrounded by a little black fence. The paths wind around curly willow trees, through a cedar arch and past a hundred year old life sized statue of Our Lady of Victory. She guards the shasta daisies. Last year there was a semi circle of night blooming jasmine that began with a tiny plant from my friend Elliott about 30 years ago.

Woof and I end up checking the apple trees and bemoaning the fact that the birds eat every last sweet cheery before we ever get even one to taste. The pear tree is still young, but we'll get a few plums this year. As we wind our way out of the garden we pass the English climbing roses, the sunflowers that will tower over everything by August, and past the lilacs that seem to love the brutal winters on the lake.

After checking out the grounds as we like to say, Woof is content that all is well and she settles down on the deck to nap. I on the other hand try to decide where in the world to begin weeding, but before I start to make those critical decisions I usually pour myself a glass of wine, sit back with my feet up on the railing...and contemplate not doing anything at all. Who knows.