A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words But…

It’s said that a pictures is worth a thousand words and it may be true, but sometimes they need a few more. 

A little girl meanders down a sandy road, with her dog trotting behind on a summer’s day.

But there was more to it than that.

For starters, that dog isn’t trotting along behind (he doesn’t ever do that), he is briefly checking in with his family before diving back into the foliage to see where his nose will lead him. That foliage is swarming with mosquitoes and biting flies (Can you see the little girl slapping her arm?) and riddled with poison ivy even if it does look inviting and green from a distance.   You can’t tell from the picture that that little girl is the princess of the family in every way and that everyone was surprised when she was the first to put her shoes on and run for the door when a hike in the woods was suggested. Nor can you tell that she’s out in front of her mom, grandpa and sister quick stepping along because she’s hoping to see the “interestin’ stuff” first and you can’t tell that she lingers at the interesting finds the longest. You also can’t tell that the accompanying sister is not the sister who was expected but the oldest, who was too interested not to come and too pretend-grumpy to admit it and so complained about the swarms of bugs and the lack of fun at every opportunity. You can’t see that her sister didn’t have too much time to complain because her grandpa was busy showing them tracks: deer tracks, bear tracks, turkey tracks, woodcock tracks, snapping turtle tracks and wolf tracks.  You can’t see her mom trying to identify flowers with the little girls’ grandpa, while checking out the growing hazelnuts and chewing on wintergreen. And you can’t see her mom melting in the sweatshirt that she’s wearing on such a hot day just to hide from the bugs as she gives the little girl a piggyback ride up the hills on the way home while snapping pictures of butterflies, flowers… and of  a little girl with her dog.

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but sometimes it still needs an additional three hundred and sixteen.

On Growing Up

First tooth gone!

“Well… I was a baby and now I’m on to being a kid and then I’ll be a big girl, then a teenager, then a grownup and then a grandma.”

John while trying to settle down all three girls for bed, while they were in various states ranging from wildly happy to upset,  mutters: “Let’s not talk about teenagers.”

Chicken in the Shower

Don’t you just hate it when you quick go to jump in the shower and you forget about your chicken?

Me too…

This chicken (recently named Foxy) was rescued from a fox by yours truly and has been recuperating in our shower.  The shower, unfortunately for the rest of my family, is my new favorite injured bird holding area.

But I digress, you don’t want to hear the details of why the chicken moved out of a dog crate into the far superior shower, you want to hear about the fox attack. Right?

Right.

The moment the fox attacked is exactly why I acquired geese and they finally had their opportunity to shine and show off their watch-goose capabilities. Which they mostly did! The two of them set off an unholy racket, were joined by the ducks’ alarming quacks and then the rooster’s panic call. By the time I got to the gate and into the orchard, chickens were squirting out from under apple trees in every direction, the ducks were huddled and quacking and the gander was begging me to open the gate and let him into the yard where it was safe. Apparently, while he’s very good a sounding an alarm, he’s not actually very brave.

Running upstream through fleeing poultry I found a fox with one of my chickens in it’s mouth. I was able to convince the fox to drop my chicken and leave but it took a considerable amount more yelling and running and arm waving and clapping on my part than I felt it should have. Cheeky little bugger just looked at me, dropped the chicken, bounded off, then came right back and grabbed her again before finally dropping the bird and leaving for good. Apparently I need to work on my “I’m big and scary let go of my chicken!” look.

But, despite a complete lack of tail, and some nasty puncture wounds, Foxy The Chicken is doing well (Due in large part to the help of a friend who watched her when I left on vacation the next day) and is just about ready to rejoin the rest of the flock.

I’ll miss her friendly chatter as she roams the bathroom while I shower but I gotta tell ya, chicken feed (and other matter) really scatters when it hits a tile floor!

The Darcy Monologues edited by Christina Boyd

I have read Pride and Prejudice, more than once and, while I quite like the book, I have to say (at risk of being stoned by hoards of angry women ) that Mr. Darcy is not my ideal man.  Please, don’t write me off yet because, while I might prefer someone a little more rugged than ballroom ready, I can see why women have pined over Mr. Darcy for over 200 years.

 ” Mr. Darcy Setting up unrealistic expectations since 1813.” Two hundred years of lust has culminated on pintrest in a remarkable selection of Mr. Darcy items.

Two hundred years is an impressive amount of time, which mostly makes me wonder why there are still men out there claiming to be confused about what women want. Hello? Guys? Mr. Darcy has been making women sigh for two centuries! If what a woman wants is still confounding you, possibly you should take a lesson from Darcy himself.

Boys, all you have to do is master the combination of wealth, wit, a willingness to address your faults and an all-consuming passion for your woman of choice.  In fact, if you can check all these off your list, all those women will probably let you insult them terribly before giving you a second chance and eventually succumbing to your charm.

(If I were judging by the cover I’d think I was reading smut.  While there are stories that get a bit steamy the collection as a whole is more sweet romance than bodice ripping.)

All this brings us to the Darcy Monologues. Depending on your preferences you can either read these to further your fantasies of Mr. Darcy in your quest for his real life counter part, or (I’m talking to the confused men out there) you could read these as research if you are still trying to figure out just what will set the women’s hearts aflutter for you.

The Darcy Monologues is a collection of short stories, about the infamous Mr. Darcy himself. The first half, set in the 1800’s Pride and Prejudice era, follow the original story fairly closely, but from Mr. Darcy’s view. Some of them address what happened after the book, some let you know what was going on in Mr. Darcy’s head and some explore the, ahh, steamier side of things… The second half are contemporary versions. Mr. Darcy heads West (now that was my kind of Darcy), runs radio stations, and plays major league baseball all while pursuing the enviable Ms. Bennet.

Would I recommend it? My only issue with this anthology was that I couldn’t just hop from one story to the next. I found early on that too many different Mr. Darcys talking to too many Bingleys muddled my head to no end. Once I realized I had a one story a night limit I enjoyed my daily dose of Darcy completely! An excellent collection for anyone who enjoys a good tale of pride and prejudice.

I received a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. I discovered this book because I’m a proud member of Rosie’s Book Review Team!

 

It’s Not Summer Until…

It’s not summer until the catalpa tree blooms.

At least, that’s what my mom told me.

Now, when asked, she doesn’t remember telling me that. Of course she figures since she said it, and since the catalpas do often bloom right around the first day of summer, that it must be true. (That’s my mother for you.)

Mom said, (even if she doesn’t remember) that it’s not the hot days, that getting out of school isn’t the key and that you’ll only know it’s really summer once the catalpas turn white.

As a girl I remember feeling the hot sun, and thinking it must finally be summer, then checking the trees and realizing it hadn’t started quite yet. It was never a disappointment, just a fact. If the catalpas weren’t flowering, it was just a warm spring.  Days of rolling down hills until dark, playing in the lake and catching fireflies were yet to come.

Then when they did bloom – now it was summer. Sometimes we would pick the flowers and string them into necklaces but for the most part I just remember that soft internal sigh, the feeling you get when things click into place and everything makes sense, at least for a time.

The catalpas were blooming.

Summer was back again and with it, no school, no shoes, just the joys of long summer days.

Today, my girls and I were helping out my grandparents for the day and saw the catalpas in full bloom. And even though my summers now come with more duties instead of less, and even though this summer is starting out even crazier and busier than normal, and even though I know the first day of summer isn’t actually until next week, and even though I now know that while my mom remembers braiding catalpa blooms into her horse’s mane and tail as the summery-est activity she can think of and she doesn’t remember imparting this wisdom to me that I have held close all my life…

Despite all of that.

I saw the catalpa trees in bloom today and while my grown-up life tried it’s hardest to throw it’s responsibilities in the way, I still felt the excitement that comes with the start of summer.

The catalpas are blooming!

Let summertime begin!

Well… the catalpas were blooming last week, I did mention this summer is starting off crazy right?

Do you ever wonder what sort of off-hand comment your kids will pick up and hold dear to their hearts forever? I started thinking about it,  and have decided I wouldn’t recommend it.  If you are anything like me, you make a lot of random comments that shouldn’t go down in history as family lore!

Except for the catalpa trees and summer but there is nothing random about that.  

That’s just a fact of life. 

I Hate It When They Are Right…

You were right.

All you boys in my life, you were right.

My husband who wanted the sod cutter roller thing-a-ma-bob. (Bah, said I, it’s not THAT much sod, we don’t want to spend the time and money renting that.)

My brother who offered to use a skid steer to help us out. (What are you nuts, I said, I’ll have nothing but mud in my yard for a month.)

I should have gone for the rental, I should have gone for the mud. But no, not me, instead I channeled Clara at two and said “No, I do it meself.” Well, I used more adult words than that but the sentiment was exactly the same.

And I did.

We now have a 16 ft diameter mostly/fairly/dear-God-I-hope-its-close-enough-to-level circle cut into the lawn. I had a bit of help, but mostly I did it meself.

Now, hopefully very soon, an above ground swimming pool will jump from it’s box by the garage and take up residence on the nice landing pad I made for it. Today while I was dreaming of the cool refreshing water that would someday be in the very location I was chopping roots out of with a dull axe, during my final multi-hour push to just get the *#! thing done, right about when the sweat was dripping in my eyes but after Ivy came out with sunscreen because she noticed my shoulders were burning, and just as I was wondering if maybe a friendly alien might drop in to make a nice crop circle in my yard, because probably they wouldn’t abduct me because I was way too dirty to be interesting, Clara showed up and asked how many blisters I had. I wouldn’t tell her, because I wouldn’t look, I was afraid if I inspected my hands too closely I might not pick the shovel back up.

But now that it’s done I’ll tell you- there are eight, and those boys were right- they were totally right.

More Ducks!

I’ve been working hard getting all my ducks in a row, I was doing pretty well and then more showed up! The extra bills to organize might have panicked me but they were really far too cute to do anything but squeal over. 

Fortunately for me and John, who not only was the one home when they hatched and who also squeals significantly less over young poultry than I do, Mama Duck is doing a very nice job of keeping her ducklings in line without much help from anyone!