Tonight Katie went ballistic while watching out the front door for her Dad and her Aunt Vi to arrive home from the hospital.
Guess what was in the driveway? This one hissed at me too, but she was so small it didn’t matter. I carried her over to the pond (the direction she was headed anyway) and let her go.
Another turtle with a scary life experience who survived to tell the story.
Katie’s mad again.
A year ago last fall Katie and I had an adventure with a tiny newborn turtle. Diana will remember that I grabbed the baby turtle back out of the water right in front of a big black snake that was anticipating lunch. This morning we tried very hard NOT to have an adventure with a much larger turtle.
Earlier in the day I noticed what looked like a big turtle in the neighbor’s front yard. But the light was low and he had mowed his grass yesterday and I figured it was just a big clump of cut grass. Later in the morning Katie and I went out to do her job and I noticed this trail through the dew…
…now WHAT I thought, would make a big wide flat mark like that? Then I remembered the clump of ‘grass’ I had noticed earlier. I wondered…if there was a turtle, where was she? So we tiptoed around a spruce tree…and found this:
Katie was not happy to be taken back to the house.
An hour or more later we went back outside and guess what. She had maneuvered into the middle of our yard, on her way to the pond across the street.
It’s MY yard Mama! I want to go see what she’s DOING!
OK, OK. I’ll just sit right here and watch her.
Katie was again unhappy to be told to “leave it’ as we went back inside.
I was worried that she’d get smushed crossing the road, so I thought I’d pick her up and put her in a laundry basket, carry her over the road and let her go in the pond.
Not going to happen. She hissed at me when I touched her. So I figured she was on her own.
She’s made it to the pond safely now. She would have made it faster if we hadn’t investigated her progress all morning.
Silly us.
Back in February I decided I’d accept PJ’s challenge to write a letter a week until Memorial Day. I am a letter writer at heart, having come from a long line of letter writers. I concede that written letters sent with a stamp may have moved into the realms of dinosaurs but it was a challenge that touched my being.
I’m happy to say I made it, though it wasn’t always easy and the last couple of weeks I was scouring the address book looking for someone that I thought would appreciate a letter, someone that hadn’t already received a note from me. And I’m less happy to report that after all those weeks and all those letters I got a total of two letters back. Previously I had believed that letters begot letters…that surely people receiving a surprise letter would respond in kind. Not necessarily so. Both people that wrote back said they were happily surprised to get a letter these days, and both their letters were newsy and fun to read, and something I wouldn’t have received without my initial effort. But still. I calculate that I mailed at least 12 letters. My response rate wasn’t much better than the expected response to a direct mail marketing campaign. And I wasn’t even advertising anything nor asking for money!
Still I have to say it was an interesting experience; one that made me reach out to people I normally would only write to at Christmas. And while some of the letters were fun to write, some felt more like a chore. So going into the future I think I’ll still be writing letters, but not so much on a schedule.
Still I’m glad I did it, and I’ll imagine that everyone that got a letter smiled a bit even if they couldn’t find the time to let me know. And if you didn’t get a letter – don’t feel slighted – it’s just that I know you read my blog and you already have the latest news!
Someone in my family is turning 50 on Saturday. You know who you are.
Enjoy your day!! Wish I could be there…
Happy Birthday to YOU!!
My baby robins flew the nest on Sunday.
Today we finally took down the Christmas wreath where Mom and Dad Robin built their little home. We spent some time examining the construction of the nest. Look how perfectly round it is.
She built it right around one of the Christmas lights. Do you see it?
And she built a landing pad! How ingenious is that! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that before. It was a place for her to stand while she fed them and cleaned the nest.
The landing pad was also used by the youngsters to take off into their future. I watched the last one as he stood next to the nest, and had no idea she had built such a grand launching pad!
Parents. They think of everything.
The day started rainy. No surprise. Early in the morning we noticed a visitor who was hoping to come inside and dry out.
Katie and I spent most of the day outside working in the garden. Last fall we dug up a lot of overgrown perennials and now we have a lot of open garden. The good news is we get to choose some new things to fill in the blanks. The bad news is with all this rain weeds had already taken up residence. After several days of weeding we’re almost ready to get to the fun part.
Katie supervised most of the work.
The tree peony is beginning to bloom…
…the viburnum is in bloom too.
Yet the pansy’s still look good. I love this time of year!
This morning only one baby robin was still in the nest.
One of his siblings was over in the yard…he eventually flew, a little wobbly, into the shrubs by the flower garden. If you click on the picture to make it bigger you’ll see the little adolescent spots on his back.
Late in the day we had tornado warnings and a lot of wind and rain. By then all three baby birds had left the nest; I thought it was a bad time for them to take off on their own. I hope they’re all right, wish they had stayed in the nest one more night, but I guess all parents, even foster bird parents, feel that way no matter when their little ones fly away.
So tomorrow maybe I’ll work on the vegetable garden which is, of course, a disaster. Katie will do her usual supervising
It must be hard work, cause she’s sound asleep, upside down, pressed up against my leg as I sit in bed writing.
Silly dog.
When I woke this morning, long before the first robin began it’s incessant song, what instantly popped into my head was Deacon the Florida collie. I’ve been thinking about him and his Dog-Dad since yesterday when I heard the sad news that he had unexpectedly and suddenly left this earth.
I’ve been reading Deacon and Essex’s blog for several years now, and though I can’t say I knew him well, I can say for sure that his Dad is hurting right now in a profound way that we can all understand. Deacon wasn’t yet five years old and he left his family way too soon. He was a fun loving boy, one who never met a face he didn’t want to lick. He was patient too, as you can tell if you visit his blog. His Dad put all sorts of goofy hats on him and Deacon wore them all with a kind of stoic elegance.
So this Sunday morning on a holiday weekend as Katie got me up before the birds I quelled my irritation a bit and let her lick my face even though I wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. Because of Deacon. I know how lucky I am to have her and that our time with our dogs is always going to be too short. But really. Four years? That’s way too short.
If you have a moment go on over to Deacon’s blog and leave a message for Dog-Dad. He’s got a long road ahead of him without his buddy and he could use a hug. And while you’re at it, hug the fuzzy one near you, the one that’s looking at you with the big eyes while you’re on the computer, hoping for a walk or a ball toss.
I’m glad I got to meet you Deacon. Run free big fella.
I think that I want to be a little old lady living in a little house in the woods when I grow up.
I met one once; she was a wiry little thing who had come to volunteer at a community garden I regularly worked, and over weeding we got to talking. She started describing a large garden down in a more urban setting where people paid a nominal fee to have a plot of land available to them to grow whatever they wished. I asked to visit it, and the next week I met her over there.
The garden reminded me of a giant patchwork quilt, as every square was different. Some were full of flowers but most were full of a variety of vegetables. My new friend told me almost everything she ate for the entire year was grown on her little patch of leased land. She had mastered compact gardening long before it became a fad and was growing potatoes in a bottomless five gallon bucket. She had all sorts of things jammed in her lot, and she gave me one, most beautiful, beet to take home for supper. It was amazingly good.
Anyway, she’s one person I think of when I long to live a more simple life, one where I grow what I eat, spend days working in the garden, sitting on my porch (my little house in the woods has to have a porch), watching my birds, reading good books, taking naps. Though I highly doubt the lady I met ever takes a nap.
Another role model I have, someone I’d like to grow up to be ‘just like,’ is a runner friend of mine who is approaching her 70’s and still running marathons. We call her our “energizer Betty” because she just keeps going and going. Those of us younger all want to grow up just like her. She has thirteen grandchildren and she keeps up with them all. Though sometimes I know after they go home she does take a nap.
I’ve been lucky to have met women who live their lives in a manner I covet; healthy, active, peaceful, content. In my hectic world it’s good to see that life in the slow lane has it’s benefits, that it’s OK to aspire to something slower, calmer and more centered.
Here’s to all the wiry little old ladies out there living in little (or not so little) houses in the woods (or not in the woods) who are enjoying their lives to the fullest.
When I grow up I’m going to be just like you.
Change Is Hard 