Even when living the best life, sometimes a girl just needs to get out of town. Booked at a newly renovated version of the room pictured above, I’ve spent the past 24 hours enjoying the most beautiful views from the 9th floor. I’ve munched on my favorite meal of prime rib dip, and then enjoyed room service last night while watching TV on a 65″ flat screen.

While here, I bubbled in front of wall to ceiling windows to the world outside. I found that a shower can have three shower heads, two of which are flush with the wall and shoot out at the person standing there. I’ve play I’ve also discovered that a marbled shower wouldn’t be complete with a steam feature, separate from the shower heads. I played with the automatic drapes and slept under the stars of this the Biggest Little City just to the west of me.

All in all, I feel like I’ve been the star of my own movie for the last 24 hours. Just me enjoying a grown up adventure all my own.

This weekend, MM and I are going to a Lamb Fry. I’m not eating, as the main course is Deep Fried Prairie Oysters.

Think about it.

Nope. No can do.

Unless it’s salad or beans, I’m not touching it. The picnic is a political function in which we’re going to see the first major speech of a major Presidential candidate. I hope to get some pictures and look forward to meeting people that make decisions for our state and country. All this will be held at the eastern base of the Sierra Nevada’s on a historical ranch. Check out the news this weekend. We just might be on television. I’ll be the one in red, white, and blue.

Whatever you do this weekend, star in your own little movie. Do something wild and crazy. It might even be as simple as enjoying a backyard picnic on a spring day. Write the script and then go for it. Do something you love and love doing it.

I’ll be back on Monday to fill you in on the weekend. I can tell you right now. It won’t involve eating wool puffs.

Attempting to remain positive, I’m focusing on the good these days. There is good in every single situation, even when it means being locked up to wait for paving and meat. Yesterday was full of good and bad. Life is like that.

Now, the good that remains great is that I’m retired. No matter how bad the days get, they are always brightened by the fact that each moment of the day is mine to plan and enjoy. It took some time to accept that I’m on the young side of old now. My days of getting up at 4:30 and racing out the door are just a memory. I still get up at dark:30, but the racing about occurs later in the day.

Monday, I received a quiet note tucked under my mat. The message from Mr. John Smith was brief. “Please Stay Home on Wednesday, June 14th. Paving. Thank you.”

The road work in my little town has been unbelievable. Every pot hole and crack is being filled and replaced. Old roads are now repaired, adding to the great ride of my new car. Now more bouncing down the dusty road. We’re styling now. My neighborhood has needed road work for some time. Paving is in full swing.

Planning for Asphalt Lockdown, my focus was on relaxation and fun. I’d craft and watch a few more episodes of Clarkson’s Farm. It’s an English program about a gentleman farmer that decides to do the farming himself. 2,000 acres and a Lamborghini tractor. Didn’t know they made such things, as we always went with the green. John Deere all the way.

Along with the farming show, I’d throw in a good murder mystery and craft. I’m working on a miniature Chinese shop that folds away to look like a book on the shelf. Truly, one of the cutest projects I’ve ever seen, it’s one of those things that takes extreme patience while working on fine motor skills. I’d have lunch and dinner in. It would be a grand day, and for the most part, it was.

Last weekend, when visiting with the Mayor, the subject of beef came up. On the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada, beef rules. Good beef. The kind that melts in your mouth. The Mayor had recently enjoyed that kind of steak and shared information about the farm. The rancher lived in a border town, too far away to drive, but I should really try some of his meat. Meat could be ordered online.

In this crazy world, thank goodness for the internet. Finding the cattleman’s website, I drooled over the fancy cuts of meat, settling on a brisket, a tomahawk steak, 2 filets, and 3 burgers. Pricey, they’d arrive by the evening of the third day. I’ve ordered meat before and never had a problem. Sunday evening, I pressed the “Purchase This Order” to begin the wait.

My order was filled on Monday and UPS tracking was available. It’d arrive on paving day between 3 and 5 PM. Perfect timing, as the paving would be complete. This was a delivery I’d be home to collect. Yummy. Yummy. Yummy.

To warn you, I’m about to get a little ranty.

With an alert from Alexa at 6:03 PM, I found a stained and soggy box on my doorstep. The UPS driver was RUNNING back to her truck and I was left with the goods. A bloodied box labeled with the ranchers name. This wasn’t going to be a pleasant experience.

Upon opening the dripping box, I discovered four bags of meat, one of which hadn’t sealed correctly. These meats weren’t properly drained, each piece of meat swimming in a bloody liquid. With an empty dry-ice bag, the meat was room temperature. My brisket, once lovely, was spouting large black spots. The four packages of meat were draped with environmentally friendly, biodegradable and very “GREEN” packing (resembling quilt batting), that was now soggy and bloody, as well. Room temperature, all.

My very expensive attempt to support a local rancher was now another problem to be handled with a letter requesting a full refund. How has our world turned upside down so quickly? Even a small town rancher trying to grow a business gets vital part of his business terribly wrong. Everyone knows, you have one chance at a first impression. You’d better get it right. This was a colossal fail.

I might add this. The shipping on the meat was pricey. Now, my kitchen needed disinfecting and I have the new problem of a bio-hazard disposal. My garbage day isn’t until next Tuesday. Nice. Nice. Nice.

Before bed, I decided to check my e-mails. At 9PM, the rancher wrote: “Oh my goodness, Joy. I’m so sorry. Your refund has been issued.” I checked. The refund was complete. That fast.

Ranchers have long hours. Raising cattle isn’t an easy job. I could only imagine a very disheartened cowboy reading my email and weeping. His response was immediate and so appreciated. It was just an unfortunate series of events that went wrong, ending up with a bloody box in my kitchen.

From now on, the only meat I’m buying is from the sanitary coolers at the grocery store or Costco. We might not have the biggest selection, but it’s chilled to the proper temperature.

My night ended with the peaceful sound of rain on the beautiful newly paved street outside. With daily rain, I feel like I’m living in Switzerland. Everything is desert lush and green. There are even desert wildflowers blooming here. We’re miles away from the current plague of the Mormon crickets to the East (as bad as any Hitchcock movie). Just the quiet of the night, serenaded by a passing train as I fell asleep.

Whatever you do today, think long and hard before you order meat from an unknown rancher. As well-meaning as they might be, mishandled meat can cause serious illness. If you happen to run into a rancher, thank them. Raising cattle is tough these days. Even tougher when an order goes wrong.

More tomorrow.

Last weekend, we celebrated an educational milestone for one exceptional graduate. A daughter, granddaughter, little sister, and friend. Completing 12 years of school is something worth partying about!

Before I get started on that story, I can’t help thinking about June 1973 and another young graduate. Me. While looking for Hallmark cards and graduation gifts, I remembered receiving my own Living Bible, written in language that I could better understand at the age of 17. In my own Orange graduation cape and black mortar board, I completed the first chapter of a lifelong love of learning and was ready to go on to the next.

That summer, I would fly off to spend the summer in Switzerland after having tragically lost my first true love to a heart attack only months before. In two months, I would gain 30 pounds, while eating my way through grief in the Alps. I don’t remember one person mentioning the word grief or pointing out the stages of the journey I’d go through during that first year. After all, I was a farm kid and farm kids get over things. Just pack the bags and off you go. After all, it was just puppy love anyway. Save your tears for the pillow and get on with life.

In comparison to my own graduation with honors, Miss Johnny Jump-Up learned through Covid during her high school years. Strong, resilient, self-assured, ready to meet the world, positive, and beautiful. It’ll be fun to watch her bloom during her college years. She’s a planner and already has her path mapped out. Watching her put the finishing touches on her beautiful party, I observed a much more mature this young woman is than I was at 18.

For her party, everyone came for near and far. Her aunts and uncles were there with bells on! The Mayor and his wife left a Mayor’s retreat in Ely, Nevada to attend the graduation in Northern California. Driving over 10 hours, it wouldn’t have been a party without them. Of course, they’ve loved her from the moment she came into this world. And, that is the true meaning of family. They would all do anything just to see her smile.

Wookie had a blast, returning to her California home. She never stopped running the entire time. Sitting by the pool and listening to stories about the antics of five brothers growing up in rural Nevada was so fun. Ping-pong-ed memories bounced back and forth, one tale bringing to light three more.

There were a few hot games of Corn Hole. After all, is a party really a party without??? As the beautiful California spring day turned into a comfortable spring evening, guests spent time catching up with old friends while getting to know new ones.

It’s a rare family that makes everyone at the party feel welcome and loved. That’s how I feel every time we’re all together. Whether Mother’s Day at my house, the Highschool Hall of Fame event last fall, or a graduation celebration in California. There are always plenty of hugs and smiles to go around. The respect and love they have for each other has been maturing over a lifetime. Honesty and communication keep the group tight. I wonder if they know how rare it is to find this in today’s world?

Our hosts (MM’s son and his beautiful wife) were amazing. With several guests spending the night, they never missed a beat. In the morning, we were treated to oven-baked bacon and farm fresh eggs from their very own chickens and ducks. Even the livestock were hospitable.

Over a plate of the best bacon I’ve ever eaten in my life, there were more stories and laughter exchanged as I realized, I’m part of their family, too. Everyone there made me feel so comfortable and wanted. I’m one lucky woman.

Weaving through the high Sierra Nevada mountains to return home, the conversation was easy under the brightest blue sky. With all the rains, the pine trees were healthy as they reached for the heavens. Taking the slow and windy road home was the perfect ending to a most wonderful celebration.

Whatever you do today, reach out to someone you know that’s graduated. Send them a card letting them know you applaud their accomplishments. Starting out as a tiny, little 5-year-old Kindergartener and years later arriving at the finish line of high school as a capable, young adult is a milestone to remember. Always has been, always will be.

More tomorrow.

from God’s Little Devotional Journal for Women –Honor Books, Tulsa Oklahoma, pg. 173

Is or was your spouse your best friend?

How privileged you are if the answer is yes. Perhaps an even more important question to ask is this: Are you are were you a good friend to your spouse? In being a good friend, you often gain a best friend!

A true friend will let you empty your heart when it feels overloaded by stress, concern, or worry.

Sir Francis Bacon once wrote: “We know diseases of stoppings and suffocations are the most dangerous in the body; and it is not much otherwise in the mind: you may take sarza to open the liver, steel to open the spleen, flower of sulphur for the lungs, castoreum for the brain; but no receipt openeth the heart but a true friend, to whom you may impart griefs, joys, fears, hopes, suspicions, counsels, and whatesoever lieth upon the heart to oppress it, in a kind of civil shrift or confusion.”

Listening ears are one of the best gifts you can give to your spouse or children. Such ears are invariably connected to a kind and patient heart.

Make friends with the four C’s:

Compassion

Caring

Consideration

Comfort

These four traits will never grow old or out of fashion.

A friend is one who comes in when the whole world has gone out.

Remember, to have a friend you must be a friend. Whatever you do today, take some time to listen to another who needs to talk a bit. It can make all the difference in the world.

More tomorrow.

They’re Gone

As you shed tears that they’re gone
Remember to smile because they’ve lived

While closing your eyes to pray they’ll come back
Open your eyes and see all they’ve left

Of course, your heart’s empty because you can’t hold them close
But your heart also remembers the love you shared

For a time, you’ll turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday
With time, you’ll be happy for tomorrow BECAUSE OF yesterday

You can remember only that they’re gone
Or you can cherish precious memories, helping them to live on

When grief is new, you’ll cry, close your mind, and turn your back
And then, one fine day you’ll do what they would want:

Smile.

Open your eyes.

Love.

And then….

Go On.

Grief. Up and down. Like being tossed around in the highest seas. More lonely than a desert highway. But, like boats on the ocean or a car in the desert, we’re just passing through our grief. Don’t stay there too long, for all the world’s mysteries and tomorrows are too precious to waste. Keep going, in spite of the grief. It WILL get better.

More tomorrow.

_{Based on original poem “He is Gone” by David Harkins}

Death Is Nothing At All

By Henry Scott-Holland

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.

Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just round the corner.

All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet agai

Whatever you do this weekend, fill it with wonder. Look at the activities in your town and pick one. You might be surprised how many things are happening during these last days of spring. I’ll be traveling over Donner Pass to enjoy a family graduation.

More on Monday.

Life is beautiful. We walk through life with all kinds of people that help us through the tough times. Moms, Dads, Sisters, Brothers, Aunts, Uncles, Friends, and even Strangers. Send this love song to the person that helps you through your days.

Life IS beautiful. Life IS wonderous. Those stars ARE shining just for us.

Love to you all.

More tomorrow.

Road work! My little town is on fire with Road Work. It started on one of the main connecting streets in town right in front of the school. They put the finishing touches on the new street on the last day of school. It’s now come to my quiet little neighborhood. We should all be careful what we wish for. Wishes can turn into noisy projects.

Saturday last, a note was left on my door. In part, it advised that this would be the week for Road Work in my little neighborhood. There could be times that I couldn’t leave Winterpast for up to four hours. They would let me know. If I had a valid reason to leave on one of the five days listed, I was advised to call John Smith. It gave his number, the lucky man.

Well, I DID have a reason to leave yesterday. My annual eye appointment. Not such an easy thing to change, but it was moved to September. Sunday, I went to the grocery store and finished stocking up on perishables. I’d be happy to comply with their wishes. After all, I’m retired. Besides, Wookie is here for Doggie Camp. I don’t want to miss out on the fun!

Well, Monday came and I worked outside in the garden without leaving once. Not a sign of the road work. Tuesday came and went as rumbling excavators got closer. In the afternoon, I saw a truck at the corner of my street, while Winterpast rattled during the road work. I would assume that today is the day for my street, but I’m certainly not going to be one of those old ladies bothering Mr. John Smith.

“John, I have Bunco at 3. Where will the girls park?”

“John, can I still walk in the afternoon?”

“John, my dogs are afraid of loud noises, please stop.”

I’m sure John’s phone is ringing off the hook with calls from my Octogenarian neighbors. Around here, we don’t get more noise than the birds bring on the wind. A thunderstorm rattles us. No car or truck noises. Nothing. Just beautiful peace and quiet. Until this week.

In the harsh environment of the high plains desert, the roads take a beating, along with everything else around here. Buildings look ten years older than they are. Roofs are often patched due to random spring hail storms. The wind helps sandblast anything in its way. With the snow in the winter and 110 degree afternoons in the summer, the roads are pot-holed, some resembling swiss cheese. Upkeep is a constant problem.

Mr. Mayor, who just happens to be the Mysterious Marine’s brother, battles fiercely to fund necessary repairs. For the first three years I lived here, nothing was repaired. Our old mayor had fifty reasons at the ready why our roads were not repaired or replaced.

“Why, Miss Joy, that would take $1 million dollars a mile to fix those roads. Our little old town doesn’t have THAT kind of money, Honey.”

Well, HE isn’t here anymore. There’s a NEW mayor in town. One that speaks weekly with the Nevada Governor, Joe Lombardo or shares a cup of coffee with Elon Musk now and then. That’s OUR major. He’s getting things done. (TESLA is just up the road. Elon is in town more than one would think.)

One thing about inviting change, is that sometimes, the change can be painful to those in the middle of it. As I mentioned, one of the best things about our little town is my neighborhood of peace and quiet. I can actually identify birds in my yard by their little songs. No Jake breaks rattling. No traffic noise. Nothing. Just the sound of the wind as it races off the mountains and across the desert.

While visiting with Ninja Neighbor, she shared something worrisome. There’s a new exit being planned for the interstate. A new industrial park. A new stream of activity that will be pouring into my little world, right on the other side of VST’s mountain. Right through BLM land (The ORIGINAL and ONLY BLM — BUREAU OF LAND MANAGEMENT). This highway would travel right behind Winterpast. Right through the horses we love. Right through the quiet of the desert, shattering any quiet we might have enjoyed.

Could be great for property values. True enough.

Might really be great for the growth of our town. Growth is wonderful, right?

Maybe it’d bring a couple new schools and another grocery store out our way. We sure need those!

Listening to the racket from a little bit of street repair, I could think of a hundred reasons it won’t be so good for a very, very long time. I’m old. I don’t have a whole lot of time left to find out if it’s good or not. That will be proven long after I’m gone.

Today, I’m going to be glad that the repairs are just in my neighborhood. So lovely to drive on newly paved streets, it’ll be great to have a center line. We don’t have that now. One has to be careful to stay on their own side of the road.

Change.

It’s inevitable, but sometimes a little uncomfortable. Still searching for a cabin by a meadow where the wild bees swarm. It’s just past the rainbow where the soft breezes blow. Just a little place that glows with candlelight every evening. Until I find it, Winterpast will do just fine, even if it’s a little noisy right now.

Whatever you do today, find a little time to enjoy some quiet. Silence is healing. Find the kind of quiet in which you can almost hear your own heart beat. That’s hard to find these days. When you find that kind of quiet, listen to your own thoughts. Now, THAT doesn’t change.

Wookie and Oliver are a pair. Not only are they color coordinated, their personalities are a great match. Their combined energy allows them to run, roll around on the lawn, dig, bark, and run some more. They play themselves into a ball of teeth and fur over and over again. Then, they sleep.

I, on the other hand, am fairly shredded by this extended sleep over. This has been an experiment in how fun it is to have two dogs. It’s different and it definitely benefits the dogs.

Wookie is a Diva. She has her own bed, but prefers the center of mine. She uses her soulful brown eyes to make sure that she gets at least one bite of every one of my meals. She uses her diversionary tactics to blindside Oliver. Her sense of humor is hilarious, especially when she laughs at her own jokes.

Oliver is a guy. He loves to eat, chew on his bone, and sleep. I can see that he’s aging (just not fast enough). The youngster is stronger and faster than he is, as he approaches five years old. Hard to believe he was that adorable little pup thrust into my arms on Christmas morning in the parking lot of a major casino just west of here.

The breeder had assured me, after very long talks, that Oliver was just the dog I needed. And, he was heavily discounted. His entire litter had been sold. He was the one nobody wanted. Only 4.5 months old, he’d gotten car sick on the way to me. Still a little damp, he snuggled right under my heart and there he’s stayed.

Oliver is the most difficult dog I’ve ever raised. Growing up on a farm, from my earliest memories, I was around all kinds of animals. I became one of them. From the goose that bit me, to the sheep we raised for 4-H, there were always animals at the farm. Not pets. No. Friends for bit until they became dinner.

Fritz was my first dachshund. This red Weiner came into our lives when I was about six. We grew up together. I, the tomboy, and he, the ten pound watch dog. He never lived in the house because NO dogs were allowed. Nope. He just hung out on the farm doing whatever he wanted, rather like I did as a child. He never got any shots or health checks. He ate Purina Dog Chow with the real farm dog. He slept on a burlap sack by the back door. I never learned how he came to live among the vines with us. He just showed up one day.

Dachshunds are funny little dogs. They want what they want when they want it. They’re headstrong and feisty. Bred to hunt badgers, they can be persistent and brave. Oliver is all those things, but there is one problem. I’ve finally accepted that on an intelligence level of 1 -10, he’s a 2. He wouldn’t drown in the rain looking up in the clouds, but he might not realize it’s drier in the house.

He could be experiencing early dementia. He retains nothing. For five years, every day is new to him. Every lesson is a challenge, over, and over, and over.

“Oliver, wait.”

“Oliver, no bark.”

“Oliver, no jump.”

“No chew, Oliver.”

“Oliver, Oliver, Oliver.”

Oy.

Vey.

Now, Wookie has the brains. She is an Aussie Doodle. That’s an Australian Shepherd/Poodle mixture. She is so intelligent it’s scary. She’s a quick learner, wanting to please. She is more of a leader than a follower. She knows her name and the commands, “Come”, “Sit”, and “Down”. She’s housebroken, (99.9% of the time). She’s almost done chewing things up. She has a heart of gold and you can easily hurt her feelings, as she just wants to please with a smile. All in all, she is one smart dog, which spotlights Oliver’s mental limitations.

Today, a new device is arriving. It’s a small, battery operated box that emits an unpleasant doggie sound when the button is pushed. Barking at the fence? Push the button. The dog will stop. Call the dog to your side. Praise.

Well, that’s how it works for a normal dog. Wookie will do just great. She knows her name and comes when called. She’s so alert, this device will help her stop barking at the fence.

Oliver thinks his name has been changed to Wookie, too.

“Oliver!” No response.

“Oliver! Come!” Looks the other way.

“Wookie!” The lightbulb sparks and he comes.

That is life during this crazy sleep over experience.

Last evening was Monday at the Movies. We watched John Wayne and Jimmie Stewart in “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence.” Wookie and Oliver weren’t impressed and fell right to sleep.

Tonight, we’ll try “Milo and Otis”. That might grab their attention. Wookie will love it, as she prefers action movies full of animals. Yes. She watches TV. She smiles at appropriate times. She understands this older doggie BFF is challenged and tries to help him out. Two dogs isn’t such a bad idea if one of the two wasn’t Oliver.

Whatever you do today, spend some time with your pet. Learn something new about them. Spoil them a little with an unexpected treat or activity. Realize that not all dogs are Rin-Tin-Tin smart. Some just live off their cuteness. Our pets absorb our loneliness and return the purest love in return. God got it right when he made pets, even if some are more challenged than others.

More tomorrow.

Oy Vey.

Tragedy doesn’t know the day of the week. Bad things can happen at any moment and yesterday turned out to be quite the moment. My beautiful junk tree is committing suicide quietly in the back yard right under my watchful eye.

And so, the story begins.

Winterpast is lush this year. For new readers, “Winterpast” is the name of my home which sits on 1/2 acre of land groomed to Martha Stewart – English Garden status. Well, not quite yet, but every inch IS landscaped. There are paths, roses and 23 trees. Truthfully, there are 25 trees, but, I kept quiet about two of them.

With all the spring rain, everything is thriving. The fruit trees have never looked so great. Loaded with hundreds of plums and apricots, they are looking great. All the trees, except for one of them. Sitting center stage along the back fence, I care for a 25′ Russian Olive. I’ve learned that some states have outlawed this tree, considering it an invasive species. Okay, fine for them. My tree invaded this space about 16 years ago and is now too big to ignore.

I love this tree this tree, as it grows right in the middle of the high plains of Northwestern Nevada. It’s managed to thrive through desert heat and brutal winters. Until 2023. The neighbor hates my tree, having told me so many times. Secretly, it makes me love my tree that much more.

The tree has been failing while the others were thriving. Yesterday was the day something had to be done. Now, if you think going to the emergency vet is expensive, just try a tree doctor on a Sunday afternoon. Or, just get out the chain saw. It would be cheaper.

I’m connected to my neighborhood through an online program called Nextdoor. I’m just learning about the program, and put out an SOS for my failing tree. Right away a suggested name popped up with many other comments that told me he was the guy I needed, so I called to leave a message.

He called right back. On a very late Sunday afternoon. He would be right over.

I learned so many things in a short period of time, my mind was on overload.

Within five minutes of being on the property, he discovered many problems. The tree was strangling itself with its own roots. This wasn’t helped by the rock and black plastic keeping the noxious weeds under control. As he ripped open the plastic to expose beautiful, big roots, I could almost feel the tree take a deep breath. The plastic around the trees would need to go. ASAP. Another tree was also suffering, just not as bad.

The second problem had to do with all the beetles that were living under the plastic around the roots. Opportunistic freeloaders were living in the tree and killing it.

The last problem was the big one. Girdling Roots. The roots weren’t going out to look for water, they were circling the tree. This had been going on a very long time, as the problem roots had made indentations on the bark. As he dug away the dirt around the roots, amazingly huge anchors were explosed. All of a sudden, this tree looked like a real tree. The roots were as amazing as the 25 feet above the ground.

With his trusty ax, he lovingly pruned the roots, chopping off the bad ones.

He pointed out many things about the other trees in my yard. The cherry trees have the softest wood and are under attack of the beetles. Every tree in my yard needs spray. The Russian Olive is so sick, she needs injections and a trim. My apricot tree is the most lovely one he’s ever seen.

What’s a non-smoking, non-vacationing, non-gambling gardening gal to do? The grounds of Winterpast saved me on many days over the last three years. Gardening is my passion and Winterpast my true love. The trees will not die under my watch. Not without a fight.

We made a deal as the sun was setting over the desert mountains. He’ll be back as soon as possible to treat all the trees, except the two that are hiding on the side of the house. For the next few days, I’ll be removing some black plastic to expose the roots.

The roses have had so much pampering, they need to take a back seat for a minute. My Russian Olive needs me.

As he was leaving, we turned around to look at her. I felt that she was already sighing in relief while waving a little “Thank You”. It will take a few months for her to recover from this.

A poem comes to mind that CC gave me when I started teaching. It seems appropriate here.

DEEP ROOTS

“When I die,”

She said,

“I’m coming back

as a tree

with

deep

roots

And

I’ll wave

my leaves at

the children

every morning

on their way to

school

and

whisper

tree songs at night in

their dreams.

Trees with deep roots know

about the things

children need.”

B. Andreas — 1993

Yes, trees know a lot about what widows need, as well.

Whatever you do today, check on your trees. Really look at them and make sure they are thriving. Do some reading and learn about them. Make sure they haven’t decided to commit suicide right in front of you like my sweet Russian Olive. While you’re at it, spend some time in the garden. It’s good for what ails you.

More tomorrow.