tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37654615734612961532024-02-20T11:25:38.612-07:00Fretless FiddlerUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-77876310104661332672011-08-24T16:22:00.009-07:002011-08-24T23:11:28.176-07:00Work<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">I ask my son, “What does WORK do for us?” His learned response is, “It makes us happy and strong!” </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span>
<br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">I threw myself into the work of building our chicken coop last month. It was hard labor and tested my convictions and beliefs at times, but "Work" passed the test. I enjoyed it. I also learned mothering has to stay my first work. The boys turned feral from too many treat-bribes and movies watching. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">
<br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">I remember when I called my Grandmother Naomi after giving birth to my first baby. I told her I quit work and planned to stay home with him. Her reply, in her Southern Florida accent: "Oh, honey, WORK just found YOU." She was SO right.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">
<br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">I have to interject another Grandma story. When she was pregnant with her last of six children, the nurse was taking her information at her first doctor visit. She asked my grandma her age. "Old enough to know better" was her reply. My dearest wish is that one-liners are genetic. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">
<br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">Meanwhile, back at the coop...</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">
<br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;"> Kurt designed and created a model of it on the computer so we could do a virtual walk-through. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">
<br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">Yes, it IS over-designed, and yes, it IS the Fort Knox of coops...but we love it. It sits just outside our great-room doors to the south (which are glass) and we can see it clearly at all times. It had to be attractive. We spent time to love and raise these sweet chicks and can’t bear the thought of them being some predator’s midnight snack. It had to be secure.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">
<br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;"> I will let the pictures tell most of the story. What isn't clear in the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7J0jfwE9wKI">slideshow</a> is that the coop has a sliding door and will have a roof garden once the planting season arrives. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51); ">I learned to weld during this project! </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51); ">The picture of my hand shows a few tiny burns from welding. Cool. I still need to paint the doors to the nesting box. The box has plexiglass sides. The rest should make sense.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51); ">
<br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">
<br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;"> We would all like extra points for doing this during the hot, muggy monsoons of a desert summer. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">
<br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">PS I just viewed the slideshow. The music cuts off before it is half over. I will try to fix it asap!</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span>
<br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;color:#663333;">
<br /></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-7606394713449608762011-06-30T06:31:00.009-07:002011-08-24T23:41:37.346-07:00Chickens and Dickens<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> Last night I dreamed of Little Dorrit. She's my Easter-Egger chicken. She's still just a chick but in my dream she was her beautiful, full-grown self. She ran to me to be picked up, tired of being in a coop and treated like a common chicken. I felt her soft nut-brown colored feathers and saw her puffy cheeks before she buried her head in my arm.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> My pretty little chick has the most mellow and sweet disposition. I got her, along with nine other chicks (Rhode Island Reds, Buff Orphingtons, and Red Stars) from someone who ordered them by mail from a hatchery. As I drove them home in their tiny box, one chic kept chirping loudly. I wanted to pull over and hold her, but it was a hot day and they needed the water I had ready for them at home. The cry baby was Little Dorrit. For the first few days she continued to cry now and then until I carried her around in my apron pocket. Now that she is about three weeks old, she sits on my shoulder to nap, completely camouflaged in my hair. I heard her "purr" today. It sounds like a rolling, soft chirp and sounds extremely content.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUJfLfuOIznJYkd4nS9NlRlbyQImes7x4B120BGCy3QGviWOS-IpbBH6USegvrv5l5K-ewiat1HxmZHj9ATofPsPpE4PdNTl_ExEA4Igt7Bxx7Q35idv-9OoB_LgZ6FBoco6m7YsT2abw/s400/photo+Chic.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624024188684795730" /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> I call her Little Dorrit after the Charles Dickens novel of the same name. Her calm, sweetness reminds me of the heroine of the story. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> Last winter, as I was starting a sewing project, I began listening to the audiobook. As the first paragraphs were being read, I had to put down my work and just listen. My life was about to change; I knew it, and wanted to soak in every aspect of the delicious process. Have you ever been in a dark barn at noon? Imagine slowly opening the heavy creaking door to return to a meadow of brightness and fragrant grass. That is what I felt as the words were read. The words weren't revealing any profound truth. They described the heat and sun of the South of France. How could that change my life?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> A while ago, I cut off TV, most movies, and even listening to the radio. It all happened gradually, in response to having watched a popular crime drama one night. After viewing it, I had to ask myself why in the world would I find that entertaining? It was a collage of the sickest aspects of human existence, sensationalized and sexualized, being play-acted by pretty people and punctuated with commercials for toothpaste, insurance and a bowel-movement-inducing yogurt. Lovely. I realized I had just wasted an hour of my life, not to mention all the previous hours wasted on the same mental garbage. It made me angry. I felt like such a fool.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> Compare that to Little Dorrit. The masterpiece painted with the skillful reading of well crafted words absolutely transported me. I followed Dickens as he beckoned me to the South of France, to the debtor's prison and the to hilarious Circumlocution Office. Within ten minutes, I joined the ranks of his admirers. Within ten minutes, I felt my senses sharpen, my soul expand, my world change.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlqr2n7rO6IQRCBnd2AZsGh-gTBaOC0JUieb7QnPkcI0ccSN7bhS3ktByR37qVJBHOnN57aL_NwOhDIck9Mqub7HXkUiEn06TiyHs2D6211i0keCRvDoFIAWijx84207qzbMiC9XHWw9Q/s400/photo-1chic.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624024194906647730" /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> My pretty little chick is a reminder of these contrasting experiences. She reminds me that I could have missed my days with Dickens, missed that chance to expand. Had I not turned off the screaming world with all its miserable counterfeits, a new world would not have opened. It is a beautiful world, a fun world...where you can hear the purr of a chicken.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">
<br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">
<br /></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-67922333179766898832011-06-22T09:23:00.005-07:002011-06-22T10:45:43.154-07:00Artist<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Here is my apology to the fine art world. My experience is my own, and not a blanket that encompasses the entire world of fine art. There is beauty there, somewhere, but I don't have it for myself, yet. I'm still not prepared.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I was born with a slight gift for art that I worked for a time to develop. I got pretty good. I stood on the threshold of Fine Artist and put my toes in the door. People urged me to go in. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I have not been drawing or painting for some time. This may appear to be a shame or a waste. But is it?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">As I stood on the threshold I saw some things in the room before me I did not like. Now, I know that I am the only one to furnish and outfit the room I saw, and that not every budding artist would see the same scene, this is just a description of what I saw. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">In the room, which was small and dark, were the tragedies and inhumanities of the world begging to be expressed. There were immoral teachers and others of authority, whose lust for my youth, beauty and talent would only be satiated with my destruction. The room was intriguing to me, I saw it as a way to prove my strength and worth. I spent many years squinting to adjust my gaze as I looked in the dim space.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">As alluring as the dark room was at one time, there became, even more so, a bright world shining at my back. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">And one day I turned.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I felt the warmth. I began to lean into it, until I eventually found myself running wild in the green land under the sunshine.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Out in this sunshine I saw things more clearly. The true artist was awakened. Teachers arrived bearing platters overflowing with delicious experiences. On the trays were Joy, Hope, and Laughter. Each one consumed would reveal others. Through this nourishment I began to create.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I created a peaceful home of beauty and learning. I created physical and emotional strength. I created loving relationships. I created children. Sure, lots of people create children...but do they allow the wonder of childhood to chip away their crust of pride, do they give in to the magic? Not that I can see. I created a life permeated with true art and inspiration. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Can you see how I would come to the opinion that ANYone can slap some paint on a canvas and act mysterious enough to hook a selection of weak minds? I don't know how to express that without sounding condemning. People of that realm are fulfilled. They need not follow me. But I feel the desire to let them know I am not fooled. Clearly, the emperor has no clothes. And today I pause at the edge of his parade just long enough to get a good belly laugh and think, "Whew!" It coulda been me out there in my birthday suit!</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large; color: rgb(102, 51, 51); "> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Someday, when I return to the dark room, I will have no apprehension about running through the door, for I will carry the light that reveals beauty. Someday.</span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-42929292745051617902011-05-27T09:12:00.006-07:002011-05-27T13:54:06.771-07:00Turn, Turn, Turn<div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size:16px;"><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"And when true simplicity is gained, we'll bend and we'll bow</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">and we'll not be ashamed.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">To turn, turn, turn will be our delight, and by turning, turning,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">we'll come 'round right."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCCCCC;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Simple Gifts-Shaker Hymn</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"> I left my blog alone for over a year. Life became very intense and scary stuff consumed my attention. I couldn't write anything because I needed both my hands as I was holding on by my fingernails. During that time I learned important things, helpful things, that have changed my life. I like to say I've been in Universe Law School. There I learned that there is nothing in my life, (past, present or future,) that has come uninvited. The good, the bad, and the ugly have all been of my own creation. With this understanding, and the past year's crash course in "how," I look forward to bringing happier experiences into my life.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"> My current creation is our big move out into the desert. It is a step toward my dream of having an off-grid farm. Getting out of a cramped neighborhood is delicious! I wake up every morning and a grin creeps across my face and settles in for the day. There are no neighbors calling an HOA because they can see my grape arbor above the fence, or for having weeds among the rocks in the front pathetic-excuse-for-a yard. No more dirty looks because my kids are playing too loudly. The only solicitors knocking on my door are scorpions looking for crickets.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"> Our new house is huge and sits on an acre of land. This is an area of State Trust land with free range cattle. Many mornings we have to shoo cows away from the house. Since I don't have my garden planted yet, this is still great fun. We are slowly putting up a fence. Many of our neighbors have horses, but we will stick with mountain bikes for a few more years. The horse folks share their 50 Year Trail with us. I try to ride everyday.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"> As soon as we feel settled, part two of my dream will begin. Homeschooling the boys has always been the plan. Charlotte Mason's approach to education resonates with me the most and should fit seamlessly into our lives. I will write about that experience, soon.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"> As I write this, I sit in wide-eyed (near) disbelief that this is all coming to fruition. It was not so long ago that life was down right scary. Thank God I did not give up. Thank God I did not give in.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"> A year ago, as I walked in my neighborhood on the asphalt streets, I would close my eyes and imagine the crisp crunch of decomposed granite and sand under my feet. I would glance at the overly manicured HOMOGENIZED landscaped yards and trade that vision for the "wildness and artifice" of the untamed desert. The smell of exhaust was replaced by the invigorating scent of fresh desert rain. Revving engines gave way to Gamble's quail couples summoning their chicks.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;">All this I lived before I lived it.</span></span></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_HSvHohPaYvdj-v_rZ8QTcgl6uLWax3OMWpBl0Shyphenhyphenbu_Wk3XVT5wbc6LQ3xbw7J0a8LRDc2nUMUrGv493D1VeXunMMzXKj0VOjpVA3ue2d_VK32mfIol4MwzYb0AlWNtF-r4j-JGlqPQ/s1600/IMG_0692.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_HSvHohPaYvdj-v_rZ8QTcgl6uLWax3OMWpBl0Shyphenhyphenbu_Wk3XVT5wbc6LQ3xbw7J0a8LRDc2nUMUrGv493D1VeXunMMzXKj0VOjpVA3ue2d_VK32mfIol4MwzYb0AlWNtF-r4j-JGlqPQ/s400/IMG_0692.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611499681292839474" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(102, 51, 51); font-size:large;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size:16px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></div></span></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-15457797886179020212011-05-16T13:01:00.005-07:002011-05-16T13:39:15.701-07:00Desert Spell<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(102, 51, 51); font-size:large;"> Two dozen ghost faces stared down at me from the sun scorched slope. I froze in my tracks with a gasp before my mind could tell me what my eyes were seeing. Floating skulls with black eye sockets shot a wave of seemingly shocking calm energy through me. We stood stock-still, looking at each other. Under my breath I whispered, "Oh! You're beautiful!"</span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"> Only the white faces and dark eyes of the herd of wild burros before me were visible against the rocky hillside. Time stopped, sound stopped. I felt the souls of these old desert wanderers. I quickly wondered where they found food and water, wondered who took care of them. My heart was instantly pierced. No one. They needed no one. I wanted to be with them, to run, to be free, to hide in plain sight and stand self-assured when discovered.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"> Slowly the spell lifted. One by one they broke away on their journey over the hill crest, without me. </span></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-33377747024183090482009-11-16T19:57:00.006-07:002009-11-16T20:18:03.115-07:00Food Storage Made Easy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3zk5gqi_SeGooijfk_n64HM9A-kRXC2OrpYoh-1361fxe0-Hs7hH6dzgCCr-EqAH2uJIHm0khZh5lSZt44sNAxfQQd-RV9SHLmIcq1l9xzNHQZsjZI-Cc-hgtHkXawS-nSAGhb5fAavY/s1600/IMG_3044.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3zk5gqi_SeGooijfk_n64HM9A-kRXC2OrpYoh-1361fxe0-Hs7hH6dzgCCr-EqAH2uJIHm0khZh5lSZt44sNAxfQQd-RV9SHLmIcq1l9xzNHQZsjZI-Cc-hgtHkXawS-nSAGhb5fAavY/s320/IMG_3044.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404905546951841794" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Dent Corn for cornbread, tamales, tortillas, hominy, polenta and more.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I just added a button to my blog for the Food Storage Made Easy site. I first got the bug to develop a food storage one year ago. I had no idea it could be so fun or that I could become so obsessed. These gals break it down and make it easy. They have instructional video clips, too. I almost started a food storage blog...until I found Food Storage Made Easy...no point in reinventing the wheel!</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbDJRFnENJR9uO2BtObXDe1wYSGRFmmKDevnN6hr4HO6ciBlCtZ1ExbGuraRQpOasx_3vL5n3GPM2hiKajoQcJ5X0y7xxL4gvs6V5MDHkM__0rzeIYyOvSfFoXGwjG9UvJhWjOWjsXzls/s320/IMG_3043.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404903918430271074" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;">Dry pack canning at home.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3OJGCxI2Vo0Hofc-L4b2r7gsmh7OS2Wk1Tc3tuYkPLTuMmGJrDspomO187f9a1XB6LYiO5z1HwYrNqVYA0e-v-kRsl4ImUst_Lf7FVZRjZ86x3lGqxScVv5_hE_Ju-82I5fHGfI3Rflo/s320/IMG_3070.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404903906623090546" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;">Clockwise; Farina, Yellow Grits, Split Pea, and Quinoa</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663333;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-11379747266111609602009-11-01T20:28:00.002-07:002009-11-01T20:31:14.715-07:00Happy Halloween!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFgZJDS_-hiboZMmCT-L1ht11E4WbKZVFlkcjSGoEeENgBrVK7z5v_TzhaiM3U3GDL3BK9pwNJqw-Eprwg14PHVqCQPGUglMHVuUJPM2MJVptA8R1GCgGn-LkckuvBG3M5zy50DjC6jE/s1600-h/Halloween+Card.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFgZJDS_-hiboZMmCT-L1ht11E4WbKZVFlkcjSGoEeENgBrVK7z5v_TzhaiM3U3GDL3BK9pwNJqw-Eprwg14PHVqCQPGUglMHVuUJPM2MJVptA8R1GCgGn-LkckuvBG3M5zy50DjC6jE/s400/Halloween+Card.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399343150193274274" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0); ">We've done "The Duke and Duchess of Death" before, but this year we added the kids...fun!</span></div></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-16817641406691681622009-10-17T16:07:00.017-07:002009-10-18T19:00:49.314-07:00Beenut Milk<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Our Jersey Cow at the New Hampshire homestead was named Beenut. She was more beautiful than a cow should be...dark blonde with big brown eyelashes.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><a href="http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic-art/100077/10564/Jersey-cow"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">Here</span></a> is a gorgeous photo of a Jersey that looks like what I remember.<br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> I can see a jug of her milk, still warm, on the worn counter in the old farmhouse. The cream is separating into a thick band at top. Soon we will start the endless yet rewarding task of churning butter.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">But before Beenut there was...Beenut. Now this is a sad little thing to remember as an adult, but as a small child it was quite fascinating. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">For one day only we had our first cow named Beenut. Buddy brought her home late one night before he had prepared a place for her in the barn. Mom had spent all the money she had in the world on this cow, $500.00. Considering that we lived on less than that in a year's time, it was pretty shocking to lose her. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">There was an uneasy feeling the morning after we got Beenut. The air was crisp and damp as usual, but filled with a deafening silence. The adults hurried around not paying attention to me. I think it was Walt who shouted that the cow had jumped off the bridge. We all ran up the road to look. Down by the creek lay the distorted figure of the first Beenut. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Buddy had staked her in the yard like a dog. He gave her a bucket of water and planned to put her away the next day. For someone who typically had a lion's share of common sense, this was incredibly stupid. The neighbor's horses had gotten loose and scared the poor cow, forcing it into the ravine. I cannot imagine the shock and loss that mom felt.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Our second Beenut was the one I really remember. I sat on her only once to know why people don't ride cows. Mom let me try milking her, but I was just not coordinated or strong enough.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">She was a sweet cow that gave delicious milk. Mom loved her.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">If Beenut was ready for milking before mom had gotten to her, she would knock on the kitchen door. One time she was found eating the heirloom gladiola bulbs that were wintering in the woodshed. But my favorite story of her is not in my memory at all.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">One day mom was left to do all the chores by herself. Running a self sufficient farm alone was an impossibly exhausting task. Mom said there were days that she worked so hard she would have to stop and rest on the spot, or nap in the field to keep from collapsing. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The air was chilly and dusk was threatening. It was time to put Beenut up for the night. She was laying in the grass near the carriage house chewing serenely. It was all mom could do to go over and sit beside her for a rest before the short walk to the barn. She laid her head on Beenut's warm belly. Soon the grass turned forest green, then black as the light faded. Rocked by the rhythm of Beenut's steady breathing, mom fell into the secure and satisfying sleep of a babe in arms. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I cannot tell you why that makes my head swell with tears. I picture my young strong mother with her thick long dark hair asleep with her pretty cow in the grass.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">It is something I never had that I want so much to never lose.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-60413959842125067692009-10-12T21:40:00.004-07:002011-08-24T23:40:02.389-07:00My Sippy-Nahs, My Sippy Heroes<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"> That is how Marshall pronounces "Superman". He runs through the house jumping on and off anything he can find while yelling "Sippy-Nah!" Of course Jess is now following right along. The other day I was unable to leave the house before I tucked a blue and red shirt in his bibs to act as his cape. He points to himself and says "Jesse, Supa!" At eighteen months old, he is more sure of himself than I have been.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#663300;"> Maybe that changed today. While I sat in our backyard watching the boys play, I felt very strongly that I really am living my true dream. I want everything else to fall away as I turn my focus wholeheartedly upon my family. Sure, many things will change soon, and these little guys will grow, but we are here, and it is now, and I long to spend my time with my face buried in their necks and hearing their laughter. </span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-52385056624299009072009-08-06T12:41:00.006-07:002009-08-08T18:48:33.166-07:00White Mountain Week<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbeecw2u6NDaltwMV9peob0AvMP03Pc8EIQ_gUGT1-dZ9ctGU1Hp-J2bsUASPN_8PGmlH-GOVewGZxDs50kuISLgjYYKXmt4ypRUor-plXXhmZqDBowDBzamQaIvJ-MG00R-iiTSNNGtY/s320/IMG_5403.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367772165826806674" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">J</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">ess and Marshall each grew a foot taller while camping</span>.</span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZA7InLTanCgfVJPEF7zcgrP8zfYSIkuoquQxK5Z6smspBDJ2hwLv7BY390NvhkiRkCSZh_tufDaic-viXWoHasOaQR2Vnz2FMAN7NRxuVCNoRsaV_ImVuMC5xm-RYxcmE91MfyoQgj1w/s1600-h/IMG_5396.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZA7InLTanCgfVJPEF7zcgrP8zfYSIkuoquQxK5Z6smspBDJ2hwLv7BY390NvhkiRkCSZh_tufDaic-viXWoHasOaQR2Vnz2FMAN7NRxuVCNoRsaV_ImVuMC5xm-RYxcmE91MfyoQgj1w/s320/IMG_5396.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367772160349035490" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333300;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large; ">Grandpa is a hit, even without the Rhino rides.</span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333300;">Wow, I needed that...we all did. I love to push the reset button by camping.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333300;">Arizona is such a surprise. I never would have guessed it could have so much. You can go from hot, hot, dusty desert with ghost towns and leathery cowboys to cool, breezy, pine covered mountains with hidden chilly lakes, mossy craggy slopes, and miles and miles of eye soothing green.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhokQ62eQAixH1QZDL08K9Z1S7LoUu80lqnrlQrwAVpL6igFCKF4bO4SnnW63gfGAd13DIi_oDqj-6F3aP-pJs0w_LejYNeqc4_bh-cyhEsf3cKIC873luKiHZ0u2I-hNiFnaW1jQlr2rI/s320/IMG_5400.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367772157958581042" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div> </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-50761373162799241802009-08-06T12:25:00.003-07:002009-08-06T12:30:40.635-07:00My Chuckleheads<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIlXvSPgFmBSjFCAwZI_JVZF50trTW6xf8JJ7bfsiwsiRTE2gTUXDolENC51UfFWtyaB62_nHhD9ikz6QuqNciVSvo8TJIXjBpIklIJocw4ke0Vn63RQqYXwijC8m-nn1C75JATmtI2r4/s1600-h/IMG_3872.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIlXvSPgFmBSjFCAwZI_JVZF50trTW6xf8JJ7bfsiwsiRTE2gTUXDolENC51UfFWtyaB62_nHhD9ikz6QuqNciVSvo8TJIXjBpIklIJocw4ke0Vn63RQqYXwijC8m-nn1C75JATmtI2r4/s320/IMG_3872.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366935087314337442" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#996633;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">It is finally HOT here in AZ. We just returned from a week in the White Mountains (pictures to follow) to barricade ourselves in the air conditioning as we readjust to the triple digits. I love AZ. These few weeks of scorch are worth it!</div></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-25795667302414841422009-06-10T22:05:00.010-07:002009-07-08T07:34:00.340-07:00The Silver Box<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"> Buddy and I crouched in the breezeway of the old farmhouse. This one-on-one attention from him was strange and a bit scary. Mom's boyfriend was a very intense man. He had the body and temperament of an overly stretched rubber band. I listened intently as he spoke. "You must keep this a secret. We will work on this together. It is better to put thought and effort into a gift instead of spending money."<br /></span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"> Money wasn't something we had anyway. I didn't know or care. Living on the farm was rich with new experiences and the type of wealth that has nothing to do with money. We had food to eat, clothes to wear and a warm place to sleep at night. Simple. Beautiful.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"> The theme that permeated every minute of every day was that of economy and self reliance. Nothing was ever wasted, and what was gained was only through hard work. One day Joseph (Buddy's son) and I tore pages from a coloring book to make a pretend fire. We wadded the pieces and threw them under a quilting frame because it looked like a fireplace to us. We were pretty proud of ourselves. When Buddy saw what we had done, all our toys were taken away for a long time. I never wasted anything after that. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"> From behind his back Buddy produced a small dingy object for me to see. Mom's birthday was approaching and this would be her gift. He handed me an old toothbrush with some goop on it and showed me how to polish the box. As I scrubbed, ornate details of silver scrollwork emerged from the tarnish of ages. An old silver soap box eventually came back to life...and what? I don't remember. Did I give it to mom? Where is it now? Not important.<br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"> I remember the important things from the experiences. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">Waste Nothing. Use Thought and Effort.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 95px; height: 67px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3huQS0pI5UFabss2Q4QDKd06aVqjNy2mGJCyGuONo8G5OAIcGwGejr7a0rjonHMJ3JolR8DaCTcdg9IA0sycOK8UJod7VICxyP8eGgxCqeg_N9yiH_LB7zv-Wy_KxFJ7ZHekPWx1OJlA/s320/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356096778987697554" /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-53265687367346458732009-05-28T22:19:00.010-07:002009-07-08T07:15:51.591-07:00Whoa, where did the time go?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYebTCKBLFunNwYXjOs5CzNm7PdIAh59YjCd82DrZJac4y4Sg6PBhW-8WUCEuzxvWaK9xh_ucwMxJHNnrnTTAEY3KFzhzIe3oS8nK1_30fXDCuDpevY7R-RNuu6F22i7z7y-P_KL5MpKw/s1600-h/IMG_2846.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYebTCKBLFunNwYXjOs5CzNm7PdIAh59YjCd82DrZJac4y4Sg6PBhW-8WUCEuzxvWaK9xh_ucwMxJHNnrnTTAEY3KFzhzIe3oS8nK1_30fXDCuDpevY7R-RNuu6F22i7z7y-P_KL5MpKw/s320/IMG_2846.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341124021006683778" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0); ">Jess is a great help in the garden.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOUjv3Xd84hxv_7gXUQ5HM_DojPTbJrokyQKQzgjiwbCZnu0oz0ichhtrhacdXuQLEI5x7lLFYvVwBFVqMxi5iOJDVlkxHzDa3cMdbf_2L03WjYUgYDu3ieyveO8_zYn-0170aBDQHoVg/s1600-h/IMG_4358.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOUjv3Xd84hxv_7gXUQ5HM_DojPTbJrokyQKQzgjiwbCZnu0oz0ichhtrhacdXuQLEI5x7lLFYvVwBFVqMxi5iOJDVlkxHzDa3cMdbf_2L03WjYUgYDu3ieyveO8_zYn-0170aBDQHoVg/s320/IMG_4358.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341124015337527298" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0); ">Tomatoes, ready to plant.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx71ZB4y5-VaIcBKVy1p429zvXt5o1Dc0tMTMeNkKXnYz5aJ3aeCx2Rb0UCIMnwfnTB5f6Wx-cEf3ruiPtPkVu6UK6sR44jCMwVVqECfuWF84bK9Evvycy_TdYZVkVPamMIhjZZ8x8JOs/s1600-h/IMG_4479.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx71ZB4y5-VaIcBKVy1p429zvXt5o1Dc0tMTMeNkKXnYz5aJ3aeCx2Rb0UCIMnwfnTB5f6Wx-cEf3ruiPtPkVu6UK6sR44jCMwVVqECfuWF84bK9Evvycy_TdYZVkVPamMIhjZZ8x8JOs/s320/IMG_4479.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341119679899142354" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0); ">The corn is planted in my tiny garden spot....</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIcBngaXZEIlEp1HtraeAv8_EVkIAhEW288mpvlB_2-4htr0y2GYI3_260XRUtGZu7V1MtLxw69JOJ9bSOAcIknJG_xrNEpCcIIKYuMPfdxAawNPvbK1xd_woBnY_kzLtwU0HHnyX8b2s/s1600-h/IMG_3019.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIcBngaXZEIlEp1HtraeAv8_EVkIAhEW288mpvlB_2-4htr0y2GYI3_260XRUtGZu7V1MtLxw69JOJ9bSOAcIknJG_xrNEpCcIIKYuMPfdxAawNPvbK1xd_woBnY_kzLtwU0HHnyX8b2s/s320/IMG_3019.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341119674718186802" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0); ">Jess and Marshall enjoy the last of the winter garden...</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixilm2-UrGBCS0x-PfhzNfqEI5D-02lKEkJxizIK19sDqIxkLtmKaNnIlqiu8aYl1cxU0ahUzKnvw1ntWotPR5hjrVf3remHrq1f9Kzmlq24kqNcEn1LoBQsqQ3qEHyzHTsWVhJTayz_Y/s1600-h/IMG_3018.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixilm2-UrGBCS0x-PfhzNfqEI5D-02lKEkJxizIK19sDqIxkLtmKaNnIlqiu8aYl1cxU0ahUzKnvw1ntWotPR5hjrVf3remHrq1f9Kzmlq24kqNcEn1LoBQsqQ3qEHyzHTsWVhJTayz_Y/s320/IMG_3018.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341119670480753138" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4EaBsd9KZ3lOwnIPxs1s6n3GloE1W7voSUeg2QnmDA5m2Gh8FZm99cXO9m2TAUMrfWtHvk3ylo-7ujIybRle-1XR5QgAanOmLWkoHY8xfUgeBv0l12Jsqcul2qWTVtytmAXOA4OdySqU/s1600-h/IMG_2907.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4EaBsd9KZ3lOwnIPxs1s6n3GloE1W7voSUeg2QnmDA5m2Gh8FZm99cXO9m2TAUMrfWtHvk3ylo-7ujIybRle-1XR5QgAanOmLWkoHY8xfUgeBv0l12Jsqcul2qWTVtytmAXOA4OdySqU/s320/IMG_2907.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341119661079897346" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0); ">If you want carrots like these, plant them and neglect to water them.</span><br /></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">Okay, enough of the picture book. These are pics from February, so I need to update. The corn is 6 feet, sunflowers are around 9 feet tall. It is amazing what consistent watering will do for a plant.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">I had a life-changing experience back in March while attending a garden seminar. Seriously. I feel I have been set free. With my new understanding of vegetables and "organic" gardening, I have high hopes for this season's plantings. The seminar was based on Jacob Mittlieder's method. Find out about it at www.foodforeveryone.org</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">Now that my plants are producing, and I took care of the skunk problem...what the heck is running off with my veggies? Two bell peppers and two tomatoes are missing without a trace.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"> I suspect it is a raccoon this time.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-64719833461955563362009-02-20T12:28:00.005-07:002009-02-27T20:15:07.729-07:00The Two-Seater<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);"> I was in a restaurant one time in a small town in Arizona. It was one of those home-cookin'-ma-and-pa types. As I reached to open the bathroom door, an old woman and her daughter opened it and walked out. She chuckled as she told me it wasn't a "two-seater" and added "you are too young to know what that means!" </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);"><br /></span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);">As a child, I wasn't the least bit bothered by the lack of indoor plumbing at the Cooley Farm. It's probably because everything was so well done. We did have a hand pump that brought up water from the well in the kitchen. I do not remember bathing, except in the creek, which pleased me to no end. And the two-seater was very clean.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);">A breezeway had been added on to the farmhouse at some point and this attached to the indoor outhouse. Sounds smelly, I know, but it wasn't. Someone knew what they were doing. I think it sloped and drained away from the house. It had two holes cut in the bench so two people could go at the same time.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);">My best memory involves two colors; Cobalt blue, and Whelp red. The interior of the outhouse was painted a brilliant, cheerful Cobalt. The "Whelp red" was from the butt comparison that Walt and I did in the outhouse one day after a good switchin' by mom and her willow branch.</span></span></span></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-6650634330778539582009-02-18T19:17:00.002-07:002009-02-18T19:24:43.531-07:00Raising Them Right<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAnO7Sa6-V0_Tud_ap_em284YkkptvTAeECI6qqLWR4ZVqWypR_tIsAVdTWsZgjfcgjRyU4OwfAxjgtl1gMxwHiCqlASPJMtfwjdO5l37NYIwA2YYgDr9X8_tc-Fu9mAysWAuSpukaAyw/s1600-h/IMG_2817.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 255px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAnO7Sa6-V0_Tud_ap_em284YkkptvTAeECI6qqLWR4ZVqWypR_tIsAVdTWsZgjfcgjRyU4OwfAxjgtl1gMxwHiCqlASPJMtfwjdO5l37NYIwA2YYgDr9X8_tc-Fu9mAysWAuSpukaAyw/s320/IMG_2817.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304327364589332498" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">Someday, M will be ready for pedals, and some trail riding.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);"> I can and can't wait for that day!<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);"><br /></span></div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlcVbn8kuudjUeL-TSt3jl0hYS5I5916-hz1-NMHNRju3UcsZ_W7RPmNnVFNSgwq1MmTWAPOYIqOkYLEAOorufXRXPGPvZmkHqdnK7VZ3ZyusPmRu7INxTpJ6DkVZBW9YWqs4PbwqNdLs/s1600-h/IMG_2822.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlcVbn8kuudjUeL-TSt3jl0hYS5I5916-hz1-NMHNRju3UcsZ_W7RPmNnVFNSgwq1MmTWAPOYIqOkYLEAOorufXRXPGPvZmkHqdnK7VZ3ZyusPmRu7INxTpJ6DkVZBW9YWqs4PbwqNdLs/s320/IMG_2822.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5304327360915918994" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">Kurt and the boys hang out while I do the 7 mile loop at my favorite trail.<br /></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51); font-size: 18px;"><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-41539545397112322702009-01-20T22:23:00.004-07:002009-01-20T22:49:28.410-07:00A Fast Begins<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);"> Although I have been avoiding the news and tv for a few weeks now, I think I will make it official and begin a NEWS Fast. Four years is my goal. This is the perfect day to start. No one will have the opportunity to tell me how they think I should think. When I have taken a step back in the past, the absurdities spewed from the mouths of the worthless, condescending media were absolutely jaw-dropping. I couldn't abide the clarity of mind in the past, but I feel I am now up to it.</span></span><div><div><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-74632439277661796962008-12-10T21:26:00.009-07:002008-12-10T22:10:43.377-07:00Just Like Riding a Bike <img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhQCdrwEwx4yJylq1S53704U91gLDtEbZcjIa7CQO1lRljdypRprPXBXpcWT-G9WfulCNQy8dc7LUl5oXtajsjLBph44L5RzUH5GhkEA4CZuS4fd_I3Ls_21CHAbmzaflNtHGAd52DPpQ/s320/Image005.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278392560019548466" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"> I finally got back on the trails today.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq1L0Yz5L7ePHgOzvjLhOcJZ6NTLZYhqkCp8XMHSdSTDq71Mylt_ZUPUeRyJa83WDqQeAZYT70Y_oUGJPesetdYSkvEcXaQLqvJxJYJuLrN5C5rQdog2EM409hzVT7ZseRZEmPSujuQcM/s320/Image128.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278392525382673058" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"> It's time.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"> Jess will soon be 8 months old and the baby weight has got to go!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiADMYJhc5RF1iBzecduWmk9oSLMhThwr8UtXhvKoOBwjpZBD60XA7_Vb_mEXLA1IjCVHvkIt56NEDQPIz-CTiE_AAw4knC9UM8SYUOBUdL1Rgw5_-Uw3ROFGn1iNzW939rtgES8fHh3YA/s320/CIMG3166.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278392494453083666" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"> It's more than fitness I seek.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnNWaEjrjpYDqLvddggwRfhlQ5GuZcCcUjRSL1W4PwFBl3J1LVlvjVtT2OT4gbHiNO3Wx0mhV6u0eWZJmI19iuxCZ637GBhhMqrIqI0YTRfy2SrKNGUbeBtqI8DC9M-d_T0ufmLnSYm7g/s320/Image033.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278392480297124194" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">There are answers out there in the desert, there's peace, too. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKBzSRjXCAgH8AXE3FOR1Z1olT2LISbH2VpakoE7JwJ0PRuET0klAEyXReGicQD4m1iXsVu6-SsC4ypym6J8baQc8_UP2foUIv245mkqLVruW82dJukR7th8Uuv4UHGKuGpfwdV3uQt1U/s320/CIMG0055.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278391592926242162" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">I left a piece of myself out there when I became pregnant with Marshall over three years ago.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2PfLbIJXiWpiRXvWLNs7esGStYoW9en6UhpYureTvoaxJQC3clpCTEqCkDdViw-fq1j9igwz9QrsSjZer9JN8JczrmBkA_bHwnW7YWpF3YPwcmDEBNdaiK6JI_x0VZ5U_E7rCoxgBd74/s320/CIMG3162.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278391587856788674" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"> Now it's time to go out there and find it.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">Incidentally, I ride a Santa Cruz Superlight...and her name is "Yes."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-72715868448717785222008-12-08T21:24:00.008-07:002008-12-08T22:52:11.155-07:00A Post with Practically No Foul Language<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">This may be what I get for saying that I refuse to give up on gardening, saying that I refuse to get discouraged... <br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">The other day, I went outside and cut some lettuce and picked a few beans. I trimmed my herb garden so it would grow full and not get leggy or go to seed too soon. There's a pretty little rosemary, a few thyme, cilantro, melissa, and some scented geraniums. The basil smelled rich and buttery, the chamomile like honeyed apples.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"> <br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDn8nv1M_icopvlxM4ljTUGgL2LdUFzFJbsdqZgKeBTsXbKnQltJepa5JQ98K9ksQH5vUDBYYmrSUOY4Gm81kdOP6tZlytfpu_vsQ8vOUrhh0otdGLJ2TBKfGsTjBtzums1PEKjz-pP8/s320/IMG_2308.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277647247182726162" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"> The aromas of the fresh herbs lifted my spirits, I returned to the house with a lighter step. I felt thankful for my sweet little garden growing magical charms to change my mood. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3RS7PZWG2BqMv1T64afNyWNdcqYObIK5iWur3_1-jrhZfdhSfy9LRq6utnpHiPSkwrjVcxt2Gv3eYbJd4VmCtxhYCTXZRbrGbdUzswhtOb3PxJ5-Ya_BUhaBIRZZQ1_o2aMmGDbIkROs/s320/IMG_2292.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277647237941288610" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">The very next day, this is what I found...</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw0KAtM77znavMDT9FrJEcyPHKeCrSYVSrkY4_ixYH2ZQ3Kx2WUSZEpDJCWo1GTZOojtZvccHIGgRI-mGL-c5BqLWtvr5crvNMiP4ajYtW6Iijq6Y88h5ppJ9JAUzdOMdMId6H6GRYmYA/s320/IMG_2319.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277646403210911106" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">Holes a foot deep, plants thrown to the side or buried topside down. It looked like a rototiller had run across my herb garden, through the veggie patch and even torn up our grass.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">For the next two nights, the damage got worse. The mystery creature(s) kept coming back. It was giving me the creeps because our yard is surrounded by block fence. I could not figure out what would do this amount of damage without a sound. It looked like a pack of dogs had run wild.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">AZ Fish and Game said it was most likely coyotes. They love the manure in freshly planted gardens. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">Javelina (nasty, mean, hairy desert pigs) couldn't get over our wall. They are usually the culprits.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">Bobcats are common. I found evidence of pack rats. They had hoarded a bunch of mesquite pods in an old camp stove out there. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">I did a little searching and feel pretty confident now that it was skunks They were digging for grubs. I wish I could shoot the SOB's. I would stay up all night for the chance if I wasn't sure it would end BADLY. All I can think to do is add some fine wire mesh to the gate and drains to secure the perimeter. Know any tricks?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">Last night the smell of skunk woke me up at 2am. I diffused essential oils and finally got back to sleep 4 hours later. I'm mad just thinking about it.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">So, if I look on the bright side, there are two good things. I have learned just how secure I will need to make my dream garden. With all the battles I have fought this summer, I know it will need to be caged completely. Birds, jack rabbits, coyotes, javelina, deer, bobcats, pack rats and ground squirrels are all looking for a meal. The other thing is, now I don't have to buy the expensive grub-killing soil amendment. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">Forget the bright side, I'm still mad.</span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-57065579048797441872008-12-02T00:02:00.005-07:002008-12-02T00:39:35.207-07:00Dump Shopping<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51); font-size: 18px; "> We lived on very little money in New Hampshire. Most things we needed were created on the homestead or bartered for with neighbors. Cordwood was traded for gasoline to put in the car we rarely used. We went to a community center and traded clothes with other families. We made old things new. </span><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51); font-size: 18px; "> Another thing we did is what I like to call "dump shopping." It is pretty self explanatory. It wasn't the sort of smelly dump that you might think of. I would have remembered a bad smell. What I do remember is enormous piles of stuff mixed in with sticks. maybe it was going to be burned. We crawled across the treacherous mounds of tangled trash and found treasures to take home.On one occasion, Walt found many pieces of a metal Erector Set, and I found a damaged dollhouse.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);"> I was too young to understand how this might have been perceived by the world. It was like going shopping, only I could actually HAVE anything I could find. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51); font-size: 18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);"> I have more to say about this, but the words aren't coming. Part of me, a big part, misses that freedom. Freedom from shame. Freedom from societal pressures. The freedom of a VERY simple life.</span></span><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-62199287718069177952008-11-28T23:24:00.007-07:002008-11-30T00:50:38.476-07:00The Bridge House<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">Through a tunnel of gold, rust, and red foliage I saw the Bridge House for the first time. Sitting on the right hand of the road, it was cradled by birch and sugar maple trees and surrounded by a thick stone wall of about three feet high. <br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">We entered the house from one of the ends that had been boarded up, and a door added. I think the other end had a window. Inside it was dark and hard to see. As my eyes adjusted, I could see there stretch a loft above and a rough wooden floor below. <br /></span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">I sat on a creaky wooden chair in the kitchen spot with my mittens still on and spied the stone wall outside. I wasn't looking through a window. I was looking through the gaps in the weathered wooden boards that made the old covered bridge. I thought for sure I would freeze to death in this place. But like most homes in the area, the Bridge House was equipped with a wood burning stove that made everything toasty. It was very much like being in a barn-sans the animal smell. On days when the sky was clear and bright, the open slits allowed the sun to squeeze its blinding beams across the floor in a stripped pattern.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);">The creek may have been diverted, because the bridge no longer sat on water. But more than likely, the entire bridge had been moved by some historical landmark lover or an artsy, frugal hippy. Whoever spent the time to do such a thing has my gratitude. It was the sort of experience one reads of in fairy tales, and for several years, drawings of the Bridge House flowed from my hand. </span></span></div><div><br /></div><div> </div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-79035220234439451802008-11-28T13:10:00.004-07:002008-11-28T13:17:54.698-07:00Crawling<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmeK9WGFSJd_7rM5-WHD1Lnrxni6WuvQfwxzMt5QeZiLQN4SdEmtsWSd2QquS9jwL1SxJoHKqH7y1gK5XZ3dZxISs_BV3OqqriHhtcllGvsvk5_UuL0yyylmcyQ5Gigk0NLYHjrRm3N-o/s1600-h/IMG_2302.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmeK9WGFSJd_7rM5-WHD1Lnrxni6WuvQfwxzMt5QeZiLQN4SdEmtsWSd2QquS9jwL1SxJoHKqH7y1gK5XZ3dZxISs_BV3OqqriHhtcllGvsvk5_UuL0yyylmcyQ5Gigk0NLYHjrRm3N-o/s320/IMG_2302.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273804849985248562" /></a><div><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> Jess is crawling! </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-71030596328250869322008-11-11T08:47:00.003-07:002008-11-11T08:54:24.283-07:00Thinking About My Freedom<span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><div><br /></div><div>I snipped this from an email...not sure of the author.</div><div><br /></div>A veteran is someone who, at one point in his life wrote a blank check Made payable to 'The United States of America ' for an amount of 'up to and including my life.' That is Honor, and there are way too many people in This country who no longer understand it.'</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);"><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-12206359908189206342008-11-10T23:47:00.003-07:002008-11-11T00:02:18.550-07:00My Heroes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Z7tUdMemC8m_Lv4VIdRooSAZIyYBQl7URUyqSCgEue8SQhYdYsZCu5ehvMrXI0umyMnHbRAzS1b8tFf4a9VeAn2LWMCPqsWC-FtLeKTanQqMOx00v-HOod8rPkYOHgEtgKoO1R-Rb5E/s1600-h/IMG_3862.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Z7tUdMemC8m_Lv4VIdRooSAZIyYBQl7URUyqSCgEue8SQhYdYsZCu5ehvMrXI0umyMnHbRAzS1b8tFf4a9VeAn2LWMCPqsWC-FtLeKTanQqMOx00v-HOod8rPkYOHgEtgKoO1R-Rb5E/s320/IMG_3862.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267288664462326946" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEYPmS6vWMFBHF7Vh1jQWSx3matmsoE0e-kc0nlreyIC28PWxklCercbcKYHLClqwoQqKC1pP5iRNABWUz207dVWz_eVnEfmsB9dwxqH7AEsNvnm4iBiNSJ30pJ0kxW7cYIQVQPIg7Mg/s1600-h/IMG_3836.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEYPmS6vWMFBHF7Vh1jQWSx3matmsoE0e-kc0nlreyIC28PWxklCercbcKYHLClqwoQqKC1pP5iRNABWUz207dVWz_eVnEfmsB9dwxqH7AEsNvnm4iBiNSJ30pJ0kxW7cYIQVQPIg7Mg/s320/IMG_3836.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267288661030882002" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">This was pure Marshall, he just knew how to pose. When he first put on his suit, he stood in front of the mirror admiring his cape and his muscles. </span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0); font-size:18px;"><br /></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9XybjXvf2SY_cVBI4aQvB3JgyjHbTWI5OsIsQxKujlddCIPl0qxp3OsngGosDa1EeYtOHnITG40TKLh_UQdPdStxZpANzSuZxnbx_ypISdu5ULVxPL6M3yAKk2yqPQ1UWunj1lJdkrSw/s1600-h/IMG_3828.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9XybjXvf2SY_cVBI4aQvB3JgyjHbTWI5OsIsQxKujlddCIPl0qxp3OsngGosDa1EeYtOHnITG40TKLh_UQdPdStxZpANzSuZxnbx_ypISdu5ULVxPL6M3yAKk2yqPQ1UWunj1lJdkrSw/s320/IMG_3828.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267288652872368098" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">It took some doing, but I stuffed Jess into this costume. The boy is a tank</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);">!</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-35793812692185726402008-10-21T12:18:00.005-07:002008-10-21T12:28:19.229-07:00My Favorite Way to Pass the Time<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMhI2of9QLPSg9YlF-ync6jJ6xdVwm_h3Y-JZcTLG0nYSecMrl7faDJXxGTkWfQcw1NqBmBUI3eO91wyftgCrVb5oksPlemcp5BiHJAEhijc11BabAnhXXIG1_PP_MAAKBPmdNPEu3oDM/s1600-h/IMG_3730.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMhI2of9QLPSg9YlF-ync6jJ6xdVwm_h3Y-JZcTLG0nYSecMrl7faDJXxGTkWfQcw1NqBmBUI3eO91wyftgCrVb5oksPlemcp5BiHJAEhijc11BabAnhXXIG1_PP_MAAKBPmdNPEu3oDM/s320/IMG_3730.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259689994047586882" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 102, 0); ">Jess Valentine...6 months old.</span><br /></div></span><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqcEJotjQQPBHxdQjpsBsuBFbmjouzZmzg8FQGNDc4ysUxAwLQCKk1bfEil_stebEa50cuW1UHZzlm5CGX-UphZ6ZGpjveBi_2Jax4eQWAXTZotpPvluQFJIhH4TDwjowfWkOTUlt-ug/s1600-h/IMG_3747.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqcEJotjQQPBHxdQjpsBsuBFbmjouzZmzg8FQGNDc4ysUxAwLQCKk1bfEil_stebEa50cuW1UHZzlm5CGX-UphZ6ZGpjveBi_2Jax4eQWAXTZotpPvluQFJIhH4TDwjowfWkOTUlt-ug/s320/IMG_3747.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259690008376328418" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 153, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Marshall Dempsey...2-1/2 years old</span></span>.<br /></div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3765461573461296153.post-67702386166319711592008-10-19T13:42:00.015-07:002008-10-21T09:37:52.540-07:00Garden Update<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> I put my heart into everything I do, </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">but sometimes that is not a good idea. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0); font-size:18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Gardens can break your heart!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Remember those beautiful grapes I planted? MMM HMMM...</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Apparently there is a moth that likes grape leaves. It lays eggs on the back. When the eggs hatch, the babies ravage the plant and leave it looking like this...</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0); font-size:18px;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-VIxPThbE5ESGZKG2g_dpSCqz2kv9slzRqXE8fP1IxrhpYkcbOn7ZEIJEQS-O-MMiZWcoM6VJO0ef5wcxtVfrYWJsPaXXcbGWVidLiFZj5lADW1tU9xasRp2Pj5n17RAo1P7JCu20rdQ/s320/IMG_3756.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259644077949558722" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0); font-size:18px;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I was told it is called the Skeletonizer Moth. I don't feel like spending the time to verify that because that is a darn good name for it.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The good news is, all three plants are coming out of it. Whew.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Everything came up beautifully in the raised bed, only to be half eaten by who-knows-what. I now suspect cutworms, grubs and gigantic grasshoppers. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">My neighbor, "Q", gave me some cuttings from three cactus plants. This was part from generosity (he is extremely generous) and part from wanting to use one of his man toys (of which he has many).</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0); font-size:18px;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwhyASzcCItIH6Xyd2PoSuu2qbGIGIx4Jp-uO-D5zvVwVV5xLBsSLY9jxDDd16suGd8DvOCViZwXPah5bdYeDDqIKNmO9APQ1_ARq0elMxjHPN9K7kvmWyTgGmkgsDtb81JhXN0J_TfBk/s320/IMG_3763.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259641701681690066" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> WARNING: Do Not Sneak Up on This Man!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> One can be eaten raw or cooked. I am letting them scab before I plant them, </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">otherwise they may rot. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-qSuTp2MF91D2CDw4g-79b1xcROpJSIEaYOObDXQjHcNJIHsUxwmSx_98RkjlEaug83uNXR9mM088myDoyVK9hYms2sm35cUgrfwI-9ohSJDnKT3Skpx1JwkC3XXZxyPfM4DmthX3lk/s320/IMG_3766.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259641067378177058" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">More than once, I have heard recently that, in gardening, one should not be so arrogant as to expect every seed to produce, and every plant to bear fruit, and that you will be the one to eat it. There are a lot of hungry things out there that compete with you. They work when you sleep, they munch when you turn your back...</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I replanted the raised bed.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> Only four cucumbers survived, along with two rows of beans. Now it is planted with spinach, beets, carrots, lettuce and -maybe- peas. I say "maybe" because the day after I planted, it looked like a little mouse dug a tiny hole above each pea to retrieve it. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I knew there were kangaroo mice out there, but I didn't </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">want</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> to kill them. Now I know I must. Not because of the peas, but because of this guy...</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0); "><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJjGjpLu1jZWIQefeHpXNoenQRvuCroeY6zpybpCwrR0HEg1UhM2lMknnKl9s69DyENR7FCEgom19PlWZrXL3BIZ-prrocOHdgLWtMmT6kAQo3SshphBCMFT0Q-ESsbw9NiYtQsYCNLvU/s320/western-diamondback-rattlesnake.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259639771589604450" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He saw me first.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I must have startled him, because he kept hissing and shaking his rattle.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The mice attract rattlesnakes. I don't get too freaked out about snakes. But now that I have little ones, I can't stand by and admire them in my yard. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Every time I see another setback in my desert gardening efforts, I try to remember not to be arrogant. I try not to get discouraged or feel defeat. Hope is important. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">She that hopes..</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">.receives</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">My SIL, Gabby, gave me a little card that sums it up:</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"Gardening is a way of showing that you believe in tomorrow." </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjjGoMiZwSzvjnawxEeLkiGmmhtZSyAa9pGida40zTOfxA3WCs1cLhSQmUA_Omg0nmv4bDR6YLkaUvPYhqZjFePXU2fQl9d8I5Mdbpkn8EFZoaRufzvO57AFNRB_bgAUqevANKq63jYYw/s320/IMG_3755.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259076995672860642" /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3