He's going to kick butt at finding Waldo

The oat fields are turning golden.
The blackberries are ripening in the hedge rows.
The tomato plants, um, have three teeny tiny green globes on them. The zucchini is just starting to blossom. There is not even a hint of broccoli on any of the plants. We had our first handful of green beans for dinner last night.

For some reason our garden seems to lag behind the rest of the natural world. Even though we planted things *before* we were supposed to, because we were itching to dig in the dirt. At the very least Silas seems to love the garden. He stands at the railway tie walls of the raised bed and digs his hands in the dirt. He works so hard to pull the trowel out of the soil that The Sword in the Stone comes to mind. Once free he brandishes it like Excaliber, sending clods flying, chopping down weeds, and ever so (un) gently patting the green bean plants with it or trying to skewer the few precarious tomatoes.

We also have three kittens that have taken up residence in the garden. Two fluffy black kittens, and one sleeker looking tiger striped. They are pretty darn cute, clambering up and down the wall, swatting at each other. Silas's bedroom overlooks the garden so when he wakes up in the morning we usually pull back the curtains and look out the window. The first time I even knew about the kittens was because of Silas. We were looking out the window one morning and right away he starts pointing and saying 'ooohha' over and over again. And there under the leaves of some tree I don't know the name of, was a tiny kitten face. How on earth did he see it?

Of course, he does seem to just like pointing. On our way home from the library the other day, he was hanging out the stroller pointing to everything. People we pass on the street, pigeons, lamp posts, piles of dog poo.