Someone or something was disconnecting the battery wires on the deer feeder. Checking the canister there was plenty of corn but no power. This was the second time in a week.
I've been mopey about another bookstore closing.
Last week was a cold one. We spent much time glued to the digital thermometer and calling out temperatures to the household.
Sam likes to see how high the water is down at the spillway, if it has any "color," and who's fishing -- so we took a drive.
Born in 1899, Gladys Tabor was a writer and a columnist for Ladies Home Journal and Family Circle. If Gladys were alive today I'm sure she'd be my best friend. Taken from "Stillmeadow Sampler," published in 1957 Gladys' words speak to the coming year ...
While Sam watched the MSU girls' basketball game, I wandered through thoughts of Christmases past settling comfortably on Saint Nicholas.
Tom had a hard day at work. After supper he spent a few hours watching TV before bed. Two hours later Tom heard the sound of frogs bellowing in the night; the sound got louder and louder, filling the room. A light bounced off the ceiling while Tom dreamt giant amphibians leaped across his bed in the moonlight.
Across the street there was a girl sitting on the stoop. Her legs were bare; she was eating an apple. I smiled and she smiled back.
It had been 10 days and Sam was sick and tired of being sick and tired. He had only been out of the house for a trip to Robert's Apothecary for vitamins, nasal spray and a B-12 shot. He pinned his hopes on Robert's elixirs, supplemented with Dayquil and Nyquil.
Shirley, my walking partner turned house sitter, reported all went well at the Prairie house while we were away. She had only one scare when she feared Jack, the cat, had expired on the sofa.
From the front porch I studied the lake and the fields and deer grazing along the tree line.
Sam said the Saints game would be over in 5 minutes 29 seconds and then we could go for a bike ride but I'd been around that block before and I knew that a televised game of 5 minutes would be at least another 30 so I headed out to the lake.
A convergence of events deserves consideration. The kind that causes one to say, "What a small, connected world we live in."
I'd been looking around the yard trying to figure out what could be edible when I noticed the persimmon trees. The trees were obvious by the huddles of deer that gathered under them, not to mention possums, raccoons, coyotes and birds.
It was garbage day when Sam said, "I may not put the garbage out today; there's only one bag."
"When did eating naturally become alternative?" It was a weekend to rest and study homesteading arts in a place not unlike the Prairie house only I would not do laundry or cook or even make my bed. I left my laptop and chose instead to take a notebook and a pen.
"Have you noticed the yellow butterflies?" he said.
Ten-year-old Moriah Carpenter was outside playing with Mikaela, Gabriel and Nate, three of her six siblings, when her hand brushed a tree. Instantly she felt an intense, stinging pain. Her mother, Dawn, soothed the child and doctored the sting as any mother would do.
The calendar says autumn is a week away and golden brown leaves are beginning to fall. Felder Rushing says it is not fall but only drought causing the leaves to flutter. Sam and I talk about the benefits of each season and how fast they pass these days.
Ah, back in the Prairie where the hornworm thrives. After trying to grow tomatoes in the greenhouse where the whiteflies were as thick as thieves, I gave up. I tried every means of extermination and nothing worked. So this year I purchased two large planters with a water reservoir.
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