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Is anybody happier because you passed their way? Does anyone remember that you spoke to them today?
The day is almost over, and its toiling time is through, Is there anyone that will utter a kind word about you?
Can you say tonight in parting, with the day that’s slipping fast, that you helped a single person of the many that you passed?
Is a single heart rejoicing over what you did or said? Does the one whose hopes were fading now with courage look ahead?
Did you win the day or lose it? Was it well or sorely spent? Did you leave a trail of kindness, or a scar of discontent?
Remember, in this crazy world, kindness cost no pennies from our purse. Help a neighbor. Wave at the mailman. Go out for a walk and smile at a passing neighbor. Call a friend that’s having a hard time. It will make your day, and theirs, too.
Sometimes quiet solitude is just what the doctor ordered. No way in, no way out. This winter has presented this situation to many here in the mountains of the Wild Wild West. This winter, Mammoth Mountain has received almost 70′ of snow. Some roofs are collapsing under the continuous weight of the snow.
Mammoth is a town close to heaven. With an elevation of 7,881, oxygen is in short supply up there. At the base of the mountain, the elevation is closer to 9,000′. It is THE ski resort for the rich, famous, and expert skiers. Not too many bunny slopes here.
Mammoth isn’t the only place with snow troubles. My besties, CC, was snowed out of her house in the foothills of the San Joaquin Valley in sunny and warm California for 10 days. At 3,000 feet elevation, 8’feet of snow fell during that time. She’s still digging out and assessing the damage. Since then, the rains haven’t let up. There’s been at least one evacuation for flooding.
Mammoth Mountain — Hard core skiiersSnow removal companies go old school.Notice the chimney—-Slip and fall much?Summer skiing should be great!
Here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada, we’re blessed that we aren’t buried in feet of the white stuff. But, our day will come with the melt…..
In the meanwhile, we await another winter storm. And so it continues.
“A band of steady snow extends from Mono County across west central Nevada near and east of US-95 early this morning. Snow has accumulated on some roadways, including I-80 near and east of Lovelock, US-50 near and east of Fallon, and portions of USA Parkway. Even where roads are just wet, near freezing temperatures may bring icy patches by commute time. Be prepared for slick roads and slower travel this morning.
Significant travel concerns continue over Mono County (poor Mammoth Mountain) from heavy snowfall overnight. Snow and pellet showers will develop this afternoon which may produce brief minor accumulations in lower elevations and a few inches of additional snowfall possible in the Sierra, along with a 15% chance for a rumble of thunder.
While it will be harder to see long-lasting roadway accumulation during the day given the late March sun angle, periodic travel difficulties in the Sierra should be expected. For tonight, some high resolution simulations are indicating bands of snowfall setting up in parts of western Nevada, with the potential locations varying across Washoe, Douglas, Lyon, and western Mineral counties. If these snow bands form and persist, they would produce isolated snow amounts from a dusting up to a few inches tonight, with slick and icy conditions continuing into the Thursday morning commute.” Today’s weather alert for my area.
So while I’m technically not snowed in or snowed out, I won’t be zooming around in the new car today. It’s almost April. Easter. The birds are waiting to start their families. Winter has overstayed her welcome. The bulbs are not even thinking about coming up. This year, it’s quite possible that we’ll get no spring. Extreme snow to extreme heat after the snowiest winter of the decade, all while we wait for The Great Floods of the Summer of 2023.
Whatever you do today, enjoy springtime in your area. If you are snowed in, try to avoid the news. Read. Craft. Cook. Learn something new. Anything but the news. Spring is a time to refresh and renew.
Elmer and Esther — Golden Anniversary at the ranch — 2001
Thank goodness days are far and few between that I wallow in a pity party over widowhood. I wouldn’t advise any new widow or widower to follow the path I took. Looking back, I wonder how I every made it through. Over the last three years, the one thing I’ ‘ve never wondered about is “Why Me?” Our futures are all unknown and the “Why’s” aren’t ours to choose.
If anyone had reason to question “Why Me?” it was probably my mother. Born 102 years ago tomorrow, she was the oldest of four daughters. Born to first generation immigrants from Russia, her German parents and grandparents ran a tight ship. From what I’ve been told about her life, the only thing they didn’t run short of was the work. She was raised in the same sea of vines as me. The main difference was, she never found a way out.
In 2007, she was feeling her age. After finding “Dr. Perfect” in the run down little coastal town in which she’d finally settled with my dad, it was decided that she needed an carotid endarterectomy.
According to the Mayo Clinic,
“A carotid endarterectomy is a procedure to treat carotid artery disease. This disease occurs when fatty, waxy deposits build up in one of the carotid arteries. The carotid arteries are blood vessels located on each side of your neck (carotid arteries). This buildup of plaque (atherosclerosis) may restrict blood flow to your brain. Removing plaque causing the narrowing in the artery can improve blood flow in your carotid artery and reduce your risk of stroke.
In carotid endarterectomy, you receive a local or general anesthetic. Your surgeon makes an incision along the front of your neck, opens your carotid artery and removes the plaques that are clogging your artery. Then, your surgeon repairs the artery with stitches or a patch made with a vein or artificial material (patch graft).”
Stroke.
At 86, that was my mother’s chief worry. Although her arteries were somewhat clogged, the “Physician” convinced her that she would feel right as rain after this procedure. He convinced her to have the surgery on March 30, one day after her 86th birthday.
She walked 3/4 mile to the hospital with my dad. They were avid walkers, walking at least one mile every day.
She jumped up on the hospital bed and gave us all assignments for the day. After all, her surgery would only be two hours. Just two short little hours we’d meet up and we’d all walk back home. Or so she was assured by the “Doctor”.
It was a Friday. We all completed the assigned tasks while mom waited for her 10:30 surgery which was delayed until 2:30. On a Friday afternoon. In a dilapidated town. Finally, off she went, the God fearing woman she’d always been.
At 10:30 pm, we were finally informed that there had been a “little incident”. It wasn’t such a walk in the park, as my mother had been assured. The “Surgeon” had crimped the artery, leaving the left side of her brain without blood and effectively killing it. He was “very sorry”. She wouldn’t be waking up. No walk home. No laughter about our assignments. A “Physician Induced” stroke. The very thing she was trying to avoid by having the surgery.
Thirty days later, after the hospital complaining that she really wasn’t “Actively Dying”, she did actually die. She never regained consciousness during those 30 days, but because of the hospital “incident” , her DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) was ignored. The very papers her husband of 67 years had rushed back home to retrieve before they would perform the surgery.
My mother would’ve never said “Why Me?” She was brave and bold. I would guess that “Doctor Fancy Pants” needed to learn some lessons that only my mother could teach him. He never came to see her during those 30 days in the hospital. I know because our family never left her side. There was someone with her 24/7 listening to the obnoxious noises of the machines that kept her alive. We were told he traveled to Hawaii the morning after he killed her. A planned trip, you know. I’m sure he never once questioned “Why Me?” because it wasn’t him. Just an old lady that didn’t make it. Just something that happened.
Between three sisters and our heartbroken dad, never once did we question “Why?”
Farming taught us all so many things. There are some things that you can make right. A broken pipe? Stuff it with oranges and duct tape it. A tractor with a broken front axle? Stick a 2/4 in the joint and drive home on 3 tires. Wet raisins? Dry them out. A backed up septic tank? Caustic Lime.
But, a lamb that dies in the night leaving the mother with mastitis? Rain on your entire crop of raisins? A loved one that gets cancer? Somethings are not ours to know the “Why’s”, or even begin to understand them. It’s best to work towards acceptance.
When I tell this story, people ask the obvious.
“Did your Dad sue?”
No.
Dad lead our little pack through the nightmare, reminding us that money would not bring HER back. It wouldn’t make anything better. Robbed of HIS lifemate, he lead by example. There would be no law suit. No horrible hospital scenes. No threats or ugliness. We would sit by her side until she was gone. And so, we did just that.
Losing VST seemed that unjust and unfair. Nine weeks isn’t even an entire season. I Just 63 days, we went from buying a house in a dusty little town off the interstate on the high plains of Northwestern Nevada to going to sleep alone as a new widow on a Wednesday night in Virginia City. Even then, “Why Me?” wasn’t the question.
For me, the real question will always remain, “Why Not Me?”
No matter how bleak the situation became, and those days were as dark as they get, there was always something hopeful in the horizon. I hope that my kids learned something from watching the struggles and victories I’ve made. Even though my dance hasn’t always been the most graceful, it was REAL and MINE to dance.
Here’s the deal. Sometimes, the absolute absence of reason must be accepted. Cancer, a rogue doctor and other terrible, unthinkable things don’t happen to everyone but can, in fact, happen to anyone at any time.
Why my mother? Why VST? Why my students? Why do bad things happen to undeserving people? They just do. All part of life, leaving grief as a constant companion, shadowing us while towing the the excess baggage.
These experiences are opportunities to grow in faith, hope, and love. Beauty is present in the saddest of times. Working towards the acceptance of “What Is”, the miracle of “What Was” and the excitement of “What Will Be” can be more fully appreciated.
As VST would surely remind me, “You can’t get nowhere on yesterday’s train”.
Happy 102nd, Mom. Enjoy heaven!!
Whatever you do today, try to replace questions about the past with focus on the “Right Now”. Spring is a beautiful time of year. Go out and enjoy the day!
This, the envisioned garden areaThis is reality at Winterpast.“Oh No, Wookie, She’s writing about US!!!! Again.”
Well, there must be times the Dog Whisperer shakes his head in disbelief. at a loss for what to do to solve a troublesome situation. This weekend, there were a few times I would’ve liked to put Oliver in the new car and taken a drive to Caesar Milan’s fabled Dog Psychology Center which, according to the advertisement, is nestled in in 45 acres of beautiful rolling hills in Santa Clarita, California. Heck. I just need help with one standard cream, pie-balled, wire haired dachshund named Oliver. Somehow, I don’t think he accepts walk-ins.
As spring is trying her best to warm things up, Oliver and Wookie have been spending more time roaming the grounds of Winterpast. Now, they are quite a twosome. Although you wouldn’t guess it, they weigh almost the same. Oliver is solid as a rock. A standard sized dachshund, he weighs over 25 lbs, while his legs remain around 7″. He is built for dispatching badgers, which leads him to a deep love of digging and going under things. Like fences.
Wookie, on the other hand, has very, very long legs. She is quite good at counter surfing on her hind legs. If there is something good on the counter, I have no doubt she can jump right up there like the most nimble cat. Between the two of them, they make their presence known.
The difference lies in the fact that MM and Wookie have different television habits. Wookie has been watching Caesar Milan for her two short years. She even goes to the television and stands on her hind legs to get a better view. The show comes on after Oliver is already asleep.
Just last Saturday, MM and I were inside watching an exciting baseball game. Outside, the most annoying dogs were barking up a storm. Those horrible owners were letting the barkers work up all the dogs in the neighborhood.
How rude.
How inattentive.
But, I’m sure you guessed by now, it was Oliver and Wookie at the corner of the fence. They’d almost broken through with the help of little Sylvia, next door. All the while, the three were barking like crazy. The party ended and our two delinquents were called inside.
This year, MM and I are going to share our gardens. He will grow things that need a little afternoon shade, while I’ll grow things that need full sun from morning until night. We’ve bought the Miracle Grow soil. The days are warming. There is just one thing we need.
A fence to protect our plants.
After visiting the hardware store, I realize that a fence isn’t going to be cheap or easy. I’ve gone from thinking about white powder coating to simple galvanized chain link, with a nice gate. Just something that will keep our two lively friends out. Just like kids, the minute they are uninvited to the party, that will be the one place into which they must burrow. I can hardly wait for their antics.
Calm.
Cool.
Assertive.
Those are the words Caesar throws out so easily.
Hard to find Calm, cool, assertion when the dog has just ripped apart 3 lovely peonys that were just starting to sprout. Last fall, I planted over 40 bulbs in four different pots. Not one has come up. I do believe there is a reason for that. It involves Oliver.
Yes.
We need Caesar.
If you see him, please let him know.
In the mean time, whatever you do today, cut your dog some slack. It must be frustrating to have no thumbs. Even more frustrating when their owner doesn’t understand how much fun it is to bark and dig. They won’t be puppies forever. After all, Oliver is almost 5. Puppyhood should be over soon.
Sir Oliver of Ashworth Hall — 8/6/2018 — Sooooo innocent………. NOT.
Today is International Day for Achievers! It’s about time that successful people in the world get some recognition. It’s refreshing to actually have a day to celebrate those who aim their arrows and hit their targets, reaching for goals and dreams.
Achievements can include a problem you’ve solved, a mountain you’ve climbed, or just an improvement on your outlook allowing you to find peace with life as it is. They can involve reaching a single goal or redirecting your life in more positive ways. Achievements usually are the result of changing your path while continuing to climb your mountain.
Being human, everyone has their own personal idea of success. Rupert Murdoch’s ideas are much different than Mother Teresa’s were. In the eyes of some, success involves owning a big house or a fancy car. In the eyes of others, it involves a life rich with family and friends. Personal achievements are reached every day in all aspects of life.
Being very fortunate in my life, I wonder if outsiders realize the cost. So many events and outings missed because the farm needed constant care. With 24 hours in a day, activities needed to be streamlined or omitted all together. People used to ask VST how he could possible do everything in a day’s time. Simple. There was no choice. He had a family to support and 17,000 vines that counted on him. There were endless courses to complete to finish his doctorate. Parents that needed tender loving care. Achievers fit everything in their day by prioritizing. It’s just what they do.
Widow’s and widower’s have a right to celebrate International Day for Achiever because it’s a huge achievement to grow through this experience. It’s no walk in the park to lose a loved one and continue to put one foot in front of the other. We need to celebrate each day after such a loss, honoring the loved one that went before. No doubt about it. Surviving is a huge achievement!
Today is also National Cocktail Day, which is a bit appropriate as it IS Friday. Cheers!
Whether you are planning to celebrate your achievements or just celebrate your favorite cocktail, make your celebration purposeful and fun.
Whatever you do this weekend, Remember this!
Cheers to the Achiever’s in the world! Make some wonderful memories this weekend!
Letting the sun illuminate the words I couldn’t find.
Reaching for something in the distance
So close I can almost taste it
Releasing my inhibitions
Feeling the rain on my skin
No one else can feel it for me
Only I can let it in
No one else
Can speak the words on my lips
While I’m drenching myself in words unspoken
Living my life with arms wide open
Today is where my book begins
The rest is still unwritten
I break traditions
Sometimes my tries
Are outside the lines
We’ve been conditioned to not make mistakes
But I can’t live that way
Staring at the blank page before me
I open up the cloudy window
Letting the sun illuminate the words I could not find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close I can almost taste it
No one else can write it for me
Only I can let it begin
No one else
Can speak the words on my lips
Drenching myself in words unspoken
Living my life with arms wide open
Today is where my book begins Song by Natasha Bedingfield
Whatever you do today, add a page to your own story. Don’t let anyone else write it for you. Today is where your book begins. Write it big and juicy!!! Live, laugh, love.
September 24, 2020, I began blogging without a clear goal. Yes, there were murky thoughts of completing a book. But that was all in “SOMEDAY” status. Each morning, I’d look up stats for my blog and remember squealing when ten readers appeared during the preceding 24 hours. There was only one constant. I wrote, every day, inching along with the encouragement provided by those first few readers.
Slowly, my readership increased, I remember the excitement I felt when I reached 50 readers. It was an amazing feeling. But, it didn’t meet a set goal. An un-aimed arrow always hits its target, they say. My arrow sailed gracefully through thin air hitting nothing.
After a few months, while watching my numbers continue to grow, I set a few goals and upon reaching them, said a little “Ya-Hooooo”. I continued writing.
In the last 24 hours, I’ve had 1,401 reads. My total number of readers is now over 534,000. Not shattering in the world of the internet, by any means. My past readers come from more than 80 countries and all 50 states. It’s time to set some real goals, so I know when to plant my flags. Slowly, I’ve climbed one mountain top after another.
When journeying through life, goals help us move along, rather like a tow strap. I can’t imagine not having daily, weekly, monthly, and annual goals, monitoring them for needed adjustments. It’s just the way I keep rolling forward.
Thinking about the future, I wonder when I’ll embrace the fact that I’m a published author. The blog is one milestone along my journey. But, when I close my eyes at night, I don’t yet believe I’m a true writer. So, what will it be? The first day my book is advertised on Amazon? My first sale? My first book signing? When I write my first very first book available in hardback, e-book, and audio versions? Will it be on the high desert of Northwestern Nevada, or from some tropical beach far away? All goals I need to choose. Until I do, I won’t know where to plant my flags, and they’re getting pretty heavy to carry along.
During the past three years, goals have helped me get through some tough days in the wilderness of widowhood. During April, 2020, I journaled hourly accomplishments while struggling to breathe. There were so many things needing to be done as I readied Oliver and I for our big move. I’d make a list of three things. When they were completed, I’d list three more. Without tiny goals, I wouldn’t have had things ready for the moving truck.
Tiny accomplishments grew into bigger ones. Journal-ing along the way left a bread crumb trail of memories. What a long, strange trip it’s been. One that none of us could’ve predicted, packing punches delivered one after the other. Each time the knock down blow was delivered, I regrouped and stood tall again. Here I am on the brink of returning to some sort of normal. Bruised, but standing.
I have a big flag to run up the pole on April 8th, 2023. Three years will have past since I lost VST. During those years, the journey’s been treacherous. Some days, the winds, rain, and snow have been blinding. Sand storms have caused me to hunker down until they ceased. Each storm left me stronger and more determined to move forward. That’s the point right?
Don’t.
Get.
Stuck.
In.
The
Mud.
I find the approach to each heaven-ersary a little more harrowing than all the last. No one can warn a grieving gardener about that for it’s an experience all its own, individual and unique to each person. Grief doesn’t go away, the experience just becomes more complex. While living a new life, old ghosts pop up out of no where. An entire adult life of memories doesn’t just grieve away easily.
This year my flag is huge, and reads “An Appeal to Heaven“. In these crazy times, we can all hope for someone to show us the way, following our leaders. We can try things we’ve heard might be helpful during a crisis. We can wait for stimulus checks, and new laws to lead us in the direction of someone else’s choosing. But, when all else fails, and hopefully before that, An Appeal to Heaven will show the way.
Pick milestones along your journey and remember to plant your flags. You need them flying high as a celebration of your accomplishments, and a sign to others behind you that things are improving with time. Above all, carry on and keep going forward because, there’s no going back.
Throughout life, there are sayings that stick with a person. Each generation has a special selection of these, which leave the youngers scratching their heads at the meaning. Almost like a secret code to another world, these phrases bring a smile and knowing to those that understand. They leave those that don’t get it confused.
Once upon a time, VST and I farmed in the Central Valley of California. On our ranch, there were 109 rows of vintage grapevines. Planted before 1936, these grapes were a variety lost t0 the ages. Their flavor and texture were of another time. They were not for shipping, for their skins were far too fragile. They were Thompson Seedless grapes, green in color. Not the huge grapes you find in the store, which are tricked into becoming that huge size with hormones. These were normal sized grapes, which when dried in the sun, turned into delicious Sun-maid Raisins.
For seventeen years, VST and I cared for our vines the best we could. We worked two full time jobs to support our little farming hobby. Forty acres is a lot of land to care for. One fourth of a section of land. If you ever walked down a vineyard row, picking up discarded thick wood removed during pruning, you begin to know how long the rows are. Especially if it is a cold, foggy Central Valley morning, when your irrigation boots get stuck in mud.
There you have another phrase. Stuck In The Mud. Until you have been, you don’t know. A terrible predicament. A Stick-In-The-Mud prefers their life to remain that way. Stuck in the mud. Horrible situation.
On our farm, there were 109 rows, most of them, very long, continuous rows, stretching from one side of the ranch to the other. Whether irrigating or shoveling, one would start at row 109 and work back towards the house, which seemed ever so far away. Hours later, you might be at row ninety-five, depending on what you were doing. Fixing wires that supported the grapes. Shoveling in gopher holes or cutting off shoots growing at the base of the stumps. Cutting down weeds or tying up tendrils. There was always something that needed doing.
Our house sat in the middle of rows 1 – 30-something. A nice square space in which our house was along with a big red barn and out buildings. This divided those rows into two sections which were named The Short Rows.
Every one of us would look across the vineyard toward the house wishing we were already there. Plodding along in the cold wet, or extreme heat, we moved at a snail’s pace. There was time to think and ponder the problems of the world. Time to wish we could win the lottery and never need to pick up a shovel again. Startled we were when we might scare up a quail or coyote. Always, we moved toward the house and the short rows.
Now, in life, I’m, working the short rows. No matter how I wish the date would zoom past April 8th, I plod along. Each day a little bit closer. There are more opportunities to sit and rest, but, I’m not done yet. The winter has worn me down. Emotional blisters are healing, but the heavy weight of widowhood still makes them sting a bit from time to time. I’ve discovered I can carry more than I thought I could. Looking back, I’m proud that I made it this far, turning into a stronger and more competent woman.
The best thing about the short rows, is that you could find rest at the house. There was a bathroom right there. Grabbing a cold water, you could sit under the shade of the patio and take a break. The breeze seemed a little stronger there, promising the job at hand was almost finished.
In life, there will always be another pass to be made. Another daunting experience in which you return to Row 109 and start all over again. So glad VST and I could experience farming and life together. Someday, he’ll be waiting for me at Row 1. Bring the lemonade, VST. I’ll be tired.
This morning, the sun isn’t up yet. On this the first day of spring, a cold wet week is predicted. All this rain is getting a little old, I must admit. Today there are wind advisories for the nearby lake, with 2-3 foot waves expected. Today just might be the day I drive to picnic in a wind storm just to experience what 2-3′ waves on a desert lake.
With all the rain, pollen counts have been down. As soon as the rain stops, that’ll all change. I thought people moved to the high desert to avoid allergies. I guess not. The prominent culprits here are Mulberry. Ash, and Elm. With the addition of the high winds, sneezing will be on the rise. Without knowing if the cause is Covid or Influenza 1,2,3, or 4, other than driving to the lake in the truck, I plan to breathe fresh air in the back yard and plan.
More birds are moving into the gardens of Winterpast. There are little sparrows conversing with each other on the branches, while finches flit past, hurrying to nest in their little bird houses. The robins have been out every morning pecking through the grass, while two doves walked about on the patio, having made note that no cats live here.
The mustangs have been out and about, but few new foals haven’t dropped yet. There’s nothing cuter than a wild mustang foal. Nothing more hardy, either. They are up and traveling with the herd within a matter of hours after birth. These herds travel miles and miles each day, never stopping for very long. You can pass a herd while running an errand and they will be long gone when you return. The horses are thin after a hard winter. They’re waiting for the rains to stop just as much as we are.
Three years ago, life was very different for me. VST and I traveled to town with K and T for his liver biopsy. There was no thought of baby birds or springtime. VST slept on the way. The day’s procedure was the only way we’d know for sure what type of cancer he had. Without this information, we couldn’t be assigned an oncologist. With the beginning stages of Covid underway, only one person could join VST in the hospital. It would be me that would keep him company until his procedure.
The strength and love T and K brought with them every time they visited was tonic for VST. And, for me, too. He’d put on his best smiles just for them, Assuring them each time that he felt way too good to be really sick. He continued to tell us that until he no longer could speak. That was his story and he was sticking to it until the end.
Tahitian Sunset– Jackson and Perkins
Through all of this, VST had the strongest faith of anyone I’ve ever known. His belief in the healing power of God and the miracles of spring gave him his strength. He battled a cancer with an uncertain and scary outcome as if it was a February day in the vineyard. The dormant vineyard gave not a hint it would ever come alive again. Just as VST never gave up hope for the beautiful crop we knew we’d surely harvest in the fall, he also remained faithful that God wouldn’t give him more than he could handle. The results of his test ended the need for any other procedures. Stage 4 Cholangiocarcinoma.
Through the journey during our last weeks together, VST headed towards his new beginning. He never stopped celebrating life, even at his sickest. He never questioned his heavenly salvation or the hell that was his cancer. He simply lived every moment appreciating beauty in the smallest things. Even something as small as an ice cream cone. From that experience, I realize he could see his new life just around the corner. Bright and sunny, on the wings of angels, he’d ride into the glory of the heavens.
Winter is past. Spring is here. April. In this most beautiful month, something precious was stolen from me. In return, April always gives back so much in return. The hope for new life. April 9th, 2020 while being bankrupt in many respects, I began my own amazing new journey. Almost three years later, I’m standing in faith, much stronger, a little wiser, and resilient. With a deep faith in new beginnings, a third year starts. Life goes on, full of mysteries yet to unfold.
Peace Rose — Jackson and Perkins
Whatever you do today, enjoy THIS day, the first of a beautiful spring. Look for the smallest miracles. They surround us all. Look at the new life and rejoice! It’s spring!
As I look out to my garden I feel a sense of pride It really is a lovely room Except it is outside
Where lovely things mix and match And greenery fills the walls The sound of trickling water Coming from the gold fish pond
I love the sight of stones and rocks And driftwood and tree ferns too The sounds of all my chimes I know you would like it too
With pride I walk around my garden And savour each scent and smell Colours of yellow, red and gold Striped cushion on a bench
The bird bath has its own domain It’s placed beside a wooden arch Where all the birds come to bathe And drink when they are parched
Ladybirds can hide away Sometimes they come out to see What’s happening around them With caterpillars and the bees
There’s not much more that I can say Except if you have your own It won’t take long to build it up Seeds will bloom once they are sown.
by Marie Church
I’m starting my weekend early by tending my garden. Even though things are still asleep, it’s time they wake up. While MM’s bulbs are already green and ready to bloom, the bulbs of Winterpast have other ideas. Today is the day for lots of work in the garden.
Whatever you plan this weekend, make it grand. Here on the high desert plains of Northwestern Nevada, the town is talking about the Gala Spring Fling to be held this Saturday at The Old Barn. A good time it will be. Find something wonderful to doin your own town this weekend, and then do it. Make it wonderful.
