Grieving Gardener

Living alone isn’t for everyone. Some people are scared of their own shadow. One person I knew had so many outside lights screaming into the night sky, the house was never in true darkness. While neighbors silently complained, these lights were left on day and night. The house glows at night. Of course, Winterpast is in the desert. It DOES get VERY dark here at night. Bad things CAN happen in the dark. But, bad people have also discovered they can do their evil in broad daylight, too.

Here at Winterpast, the outside lights are rarely on at any time. I detest light pollution. Trying to do my part to enhance the night sky, when I’m safely tucked inside, there’s no need to light up my surroundings outside. Beside, if I do hear something, I hope the someONE creating the someTHING I hear trips and falls over the rocks, boulders and other obstacles outside. Why give them a clear path to my home?

Asking for protection from angels before I slept every night, being scared of the dark isn’t in my nature. I was raised on a farm. There were no street lights to help joggers find their way home. No one jogged because we are all too tired from the day of farming. No one ran down the street in the dark because every house had a few loose ranch dogs that worked the night shift. If you DID hear someTHING in the night, it was someTHING that needed investigation with a shotgun. That explained the situation in which I grew up. I have a healthy respect and love for guns.

Times are changing, and I decided that protection might be a good idea. A can of wasp spray by the bedside is a great idea. The stream of toxic goo can shoot a long way. Wouldn’t want that in your eyes. There’s the secreted big rig tire thumper VST and I bought in Wyoming. That would bring on a headache for a little while. The skull crusher is positioned in another “quick-grab” spot, ready if I need it. The name explains that manual device perfectly.

Living on the high desert a girl can’t be too careful. Nevada is an open carry state. That doesn’t refer to a open can of beer in the truck. It refers to wearing a gun strapped in plain sight on your body. At my age, that would be an open invitation to a mugging. Not being strong enough to keep it away from an attacker, I realize I’m too old to do that. But, I’m not too old to have gun properly stowed right next to my bed. It’s for that reason I purchased a pink and black Saturday Night Special (similar in appearance only to the picture above).

Without research, I chose this gun because it fit perfectly in my freakishly big but weak Germanic hands. Basically made of plastic, this gun felt fantastic at the gun store. A perfect fit. Love at first sight. No, the color wasn’t the reason I liked it. A gun is a tool used for protection. In my opinion, guns shouldn’t come in pink. It was the weight and balance in my hand that sealed the deal.

It’s been a long time since I shot anything. I never liked going to the range with VST, as he was an expert at shooting, like everything else. A target would go up. His gun held five bullets. He’d shoot five times. The bullseye would be eliminated by his shots, leaving a gaping hole in the middle of the target. Then, it’d be time to go home. Every single time was the same. Buying the best gun is half the battle and VST shot with high end equipment.

Ace is also a precise shooter. There is a difference. His precision skills kept him alive during two wars. With that being said, the equipment I purchased for myself is low end. How is it that for everyone else, I bought the best money could by. For my own arsenal, I bought low end products. Yesterday, I discovered the error in my way.

Ace offered to take me to the range for gun safety and shooting. Off we went into the bright blue sky with a scary black long gun, two black pistols, and my cheery pink gun. The range is a marvelous place. With a range master watching over everyone, lots of people were practicing.

Proper preparation is needed when you go to an outdoor gun range. First, you better have a reason to be there. Don’t just drop into watch, because everyone is very aware of who’s there and what they’re shooting. There are very specific rules. You need to have ear and eye protection. You need to listen to the range master to know when the range is hot or cold. You also need to be on high alert for idiot nimrods that don’t know the rules. They can be a danger to everyone.

We chose to shoot in a private lane for my first lesson. Ace was patient and kind. We loaded my new pink gun, while he was worried about this pink nightmare. The Saturday Night Special was quite possibly the cheapest gun he’d ever shot, and I know he was praying it didn’t blow up in my hand. Confidence in my weapon of choice was evaporating in the morning sun.

After 50 rounds, we both agreed I need to trade up to a quality pistol. That being said, I hit the target and still know the gun is the perfect weight and size for me. I could hit the target. Aim and shoot. Hit center mass. That’s all you need to hit. Accomplished.

It would be a mistake for someone to break down a window or door and enter Winterpast with evil intent. Oliver and I are ready. Not scared. PREPARED. Preparation empowers even the oldest of widows.

Scared of the dark? Negative.

Scared of intruders? Isn’t everyone?

Prepared for the worst? You betcha. All part of living in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada in a little house named Winterpast.

More tomorrow.

Oh, the varied activities of the retired. Choices are everywhere. Even at the brand new Senior Center, which has been brimming with excitement. It was there I found myself two days ago. A friend needed a ride into the biggest little city just west of me. She asked that we could leave after her exercise class.

Now, here’s the deal.

Exercise is not for everyone. That’s an uncomfortable fact. Haven’t we all heard of the pencil thin jock who loves his 10 mile long morning jog, until one day, he drops dead in the middle of it? At the present time, my knees are good. Hips bones, work well. Connective tissue doesn’t complain. Spine remains flexible and working fine. I’d like to keep all the parts working as they are at the present time. Structured exercise isn’t in my plan at the moment.

I get plenty of exercise in the workout place otherwise known as Winterpast. There is stretching to reach high places with my dust cloth. Endurance when vacuuming. Endless miles of sprinkler line to repair. Squats while lifting heavy pots. Lunges chasing Oliver. Weight lifting when I move the furniture from here to there. Balance when doing things on the ladder. Truly. For an old gal, I get a lot done in a day. All followed by plenty of soaking in the hot tub. A real gym and spa around here.

People are quick to point out that the I just things listed aren’t cardio fitness. I would ask them to lug bags of mulch from the truck to the back yard for me. We’ll find out who is winded first. We can do this at 4400′ elevation for a little added fun.

When I arrived to the Senior Center, I found my friend, Willow, my friend, LEADING the class. A detail she forgot to mention. She is gorgeous and thin. Pencil thin. Model thin and tall. The perfect woman to lead the class. I decided to give it a try. Luckily, I do own favorite leggings. I resisted leggings for a long time, and then made the fatal error of buying a pair. They are from the heavens. Along with the leggings, I wore a turtleneck for warmth, layered with my new t-shirt that has a big butterfly on the front along with the word FEARLESS. On top of that, a cashmere sweater, because cashmere is perfect for everything. I was ready.

Remember, this is a Senior Center. My friend is more senior than I am. By ten + years, mind you. The other women in the class were all more senior than she. There were chairs on which to sit on and balance while standing. No high impact, these were all stretching and balance exercises. No problem, right?

Those.

Exercises.

Kicked.

My.

Saggy.

Butt.

One hour is way to long to focus on exercises. No text breaks. No coffee break. No time to check the latest news. Nothing. Straight exercising for one hour. After 30 minutes of hell, I hobbled over to the art room to see what was going on there.

Hallelujah.

There were three of the coolest women in the place. Pinkie, Raspberry Beret, and Free Spirit. They sat while working on an acrylic painting projects. Pinkie had escaped the torture of the exercise class by following my lead. The three of them were full of questions. I found my people! I left there with a list of necessary art supplies. Rather than gym shoes, I’ll be hitting the Art Section of Walmart to stock up.

After class, Willow was excited to see if I’d be attending the next class to be held today.

Today????? I’m still recovering from Tuesday.

Next Tuesday, I plan to be ready.

Paints? Check

Palette? Check

Art Paper? Check

Exercise attire?????

FERGETABOUTIT.

More tomorrow.

_{Original by Alanis Morissette — Personalized Version by Me}

I’m old, but I’m happy
I’m spoiled, but I’m kind
I’m short, but I’m healthy, Oh yeah
I smile, but I’m grounded
I’m sane, but overwhelmed
I’m lost, but I’m hopeful, baby

And what it all comes down to
Is that everything’s gonna be fine, fine, fine
‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket
And the other one’s giving a high five

I’m alone, but not lonely
I’m smart, but retired
I’m tired, but I carry on
I’m still, but I’m restless
I’m here, but really gone
I’m wrong, I’m sorry, baby

And what it all comes down to
Is that everything’s gonna be quite alright
‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is eating chocolate.

And what it all comes down to, my friend
Is that I haven’t got it figured out just yet
‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is giving a peace sign

I’m free, but I’m focused
I’m a fool, but I’m wise
I’m hard, but I’m understanding
I’m sad, but I’m laughing
I’m brave, but full of $#%@
Wrinkled, but still pretty, baby

And what it all boils down to
Is that no one’s really got it figured out just yet
Well, I’ve got one hand in my pocket
And the other one is planting a peony.
And what it all comes down to my friends,
Is that everything is just fine, fine, fine
‘Cause I’ve got one hand in my pocket
And the other one’s writing my story.

Pruning seems like it would be such a simple skill. It’s all about balance. Fruit wood. Dead wood. Thinning. Somehow, my end product never ends the way I envision. I’ve never lost fingers, that’s true. But, the plant becomes unbalanced or too thin. I’m really trying. Sadly the plant suffers through the year. This year, I plan to study more and get it right.

Last year, the roses were pruned with Mr. B’s small chain saw. This year, I’ll sit down with each plant and apologize. They pouted all year, giving me minimum effort in small, ragged little blossoms. This year, I’ll make it up to them. They are getting premium plant food and lots of attention. Rose aren’t for everyone or every yard. I really want them to like it here at Winterpast.

At the Ranch of Long Ago, VST built me a fountain. Not just any fountain, mind you. A mountain fountain made from the finest Sierra Nevada boulders. These boulders were so large, their placement involved a REAL forklift. Luckily, we had one on the farm, complete with a real farmer that knew how to drive and use this type of machinery. A friend had great ideas about the boulders, until he had better ideas about moving to Oregon, so we inherited the rocks. VST created a waterfall.

When the mountain waterfall was finished, it was awe-inspiring.

“Okay, Darlin’. I need to go disk the vines. The rest is up to you.”

I sat with a blank slate. The back wall of the garden area faced west. It was impossible to enjoy an evening out there until the sun went down, as the summer heat was relentless. The temperature soared over 100 degrees for months from May until October. In the middle of summer, the nights would often hover in the 90’s. Having a barrier of climbing plants to grow on the chain link fence would help a lot.

Going to our local Handy Andy’s, I found the perfect and inexpensive solution. Something called “Lady Banks Climbing Roses”. The softest yellow, the informative tag promised they were fast growing and hearty. They wouldn’t die in the 115 degree sunshine. They’d make a luxurious hedge. I bought 20 of them and headed home.

The soil in the Central Valley is heavenly. If I could receive a truck load of that soil, it would be more precious than 1,000 diamond rings. The soil here must be amended with years and years of added mulch and tillage. Even after that, you still have desert soil. At the ranch, you could toss out a tomato, and in two weeks, a new plant would be growing. California is rich in everything except sanity.

Scurrying home after work each night, the twenty rose bushes were soon nestled in and ready for their first year. Sure, I planted them a little closer than the instructions said. Really? “Plant 4′ apart”??? I wanted shade. I wanted action. I wanted a wall of the softest yellow beauty. I wanted it NOW.

Oy Vey.

The roses started growing. At first, it was delightful. They spread their little branches and GREW. They GREW through the chain link fence and touched leaves with their others.

How high are the rose bushes, Mama?

Two feet high and rising.

They met the top of the 5′ fence in the first month and kept going.

How high are the rose bushes, Mama?

Eight feet high and rising.

By September, they reached into the air and went for the roof of our patio cover.

How high the rose bushes, Mama?

Ten feet high and rising.

I couldn’t measure them after that. With all the love, care, best soil additives, and water, they were on their way. The afternoon sun was blocked. The softest yellow blooms provided nests for birds, pollen for bees, and a butterfly haven. The choice was brilliant, except for one thing.

This inexpensive variety of rose has millions of tiny little pokey thorns. Thorns up and down the stems. Thorns on the branches. Thorns on the trunks of the plants. Thorns that look so small, they couldn’t amount to anything, but thorns that will tear a chambray shirt to threads when you try to prune. I had planted a monstrous bank of evil thorns.

As the years went by, those roses were left to their own devices. Over 15 years time, their trunks split the chain link fence in many places. At their highest point, they were a good 20 feet in the air. They produced so many roses, it was impossible to trim away the dead ones. A wonderful hiding place existed now for a gopher snake or two. My great idea, over planted and abundant, had taken over. Thank goodness we lived in the country.

After the tenth season, VST helped with our REAL honest to goodness John Deere Tractor. Putting big chains at the trunks of a few of the biggest plants, he said some words that VST didn’t often say. With a few tugs, we thinned them. At 4′ apart, they were still overgrown, but it was all we could do to remove five bushes. The entire time, VST was questioning my though process in purchasing these horrible plants. I had to be quiet for he was 100% correct. They were a big mistake in many ways.

How I wish I could have that wall of roses now. Sadly, my desert roses struggle to grow at all. This season, I’ll talk to them and thank them for having a sensible amount of thorns. Thank goodness.

Today, I’m off to the garden center to see what’s come in. With nightly frost, it’s still too soon to plant much. Of course, there’s always the bareroot plants and bulbs The last days of winter taunt our gardening souls, eh?

More tomorrow.

With the countdown to spring underway, it’s time to plan. Winterpast places high demands on me. She wants to show off her best spring colors, so I’d better get ready. There are many trees and bushes that’ve been removed. Now, the time for replacement has arrived. Updating a yard takes some thought and time. It’s nice to observe a yard at different times of of the day and from different places from the yard.

While the weather is still more winter than spring, I plan to organize and repair my garden tools. Many of them have been with me for decades, some even belonged to my dad. It’s time to organize, repair, and sharpen them. A wheel barrow has a flat. A rake needs a new handle. Ladders need to be hung. The shed needs a good cleaning. Projects that got put away for Spring.

Next, the garden needs a plan for 2022. A bank of Irises sit behind the shed. A beautiful lavender shade, they are the earliest plants to brave the desert cold. For two years, I’ve had intentions of moving them around the yard. This year, it will happen. With the Irises moved, there’ll be a savings on my water bill, always important when living in the desert.

Budgeting wisely, I plan to see how many trees I add. After removing some very tall junipers, I have a blank slate against the RV Barn wall. Two Japanese Maples will do nicely along that wall. There are a couple other places that trees were removed. I plan to put in five trees this year. Perhaps a peach. Maybe a nectarine. It depends what the nursery tells me will thrive in these desert soils.

Shopping for seeds I’m thinking butterflies this year. Lavender does very well in the desert. Honeysuckle is another plant that does well. I want color and beautiful scents in the back yard. Lots of color. Pots that overwintered need to be emptied, fertilized, and refilled. Pots relieve me of the tedious job of digging in the desert soils. If worst comes to worst, I can always depend on Mr. B and his amazing gardening services to help me out of a jam.

The back yard paths are covered in decomposed granite. After years, they need some attention. Rocks covering garden cloth need refurbishing. Bark needs freshening. All this as the sprinkler system needs constant repair. Gardening is such a healthy and healing activity. Growing beautiful plants is calming providing a time for meditation and prayer. Spring is the perfect time for both.

Be sure to check out on line videos on gardening tips for your area. Spring fertilization is important while things are still dormant. Late winter is the perfect time to separate and replant bulbs.

Don’t forget to freshen your yard art. Old bird houses might need a fresh coat of paint, as mine do. Wind chimes could use new strings. Patio furniture always looks good with a fresh coat of paint.

When planning your garden chores, plan your time wisely. My finish date is always July 4th. Dividing the weeks appropriately, you can be sure to get everything accomplished to meet your deadline. Having a dedicated garden calendar helps. Keeping track of the prior year’s freeze dates helps you plan for the next year. Or, you might have your own gardener like Mr. B, who will be calling me when it’s time to turn on the water.

If you do have the need to winterize and then un-winterize, it’s a good idea to take a video of the process. In a complicated yard like Winterpast, there are many steps in the process. By having a video, you can save a little money and do it yourself. It’s not a hard process, just a bunch of things you need to do in a specific order.

Don’t forget You Tube when you have a project to do. I am amazed that the number of things you can learn by watching You Tube. Even something as simple as how to open the hood of a Jeep Wrangler can be found there.

Tomorrow, I’ll give you a few more ideas for Spring preparations. These days, I’m a gardener who grieves sometimes. Today, it’s been one year, eleven months since I lost VST. This year, Winterpast’s garden beauty will be dedicated to his memory.

More tomorrow.

The hills are alive with the spring rains. Even deserts do become a different shade for a few days in March and April. Little patches are grass are springing up under the protection of the dead tumbleweeds. From a distance, the hint of grey-green and the scent of nourishment will call the mustangs to higher grazing. There they will find food and water without human complication. And so the cycle begins again.

It’s been cold here. Desert cold. High winter humidity always makes it feel colder than it is. Another storm was predicted, but, only the high Sierra’s received snow. My little town just shivered with night time temperatures dropping to the 20’s.

March is a deceiving time for a gardener. The nursery is a sea of color with fresh deliveries of the prettiest Peonies or Johnny Jump Ups. How they keep plants alive at this early time is a mystery. Their garden center freezes at night just as my back yard does. To plant anything so fragile at this time of year isn’t wise. Pretty in the afternoon; frozen solid in the morning. Our growing season is shorter here in the high desert. Early March is still too soon for planting.

Waiting patiently for the day things will bloom around here, the Saturday mail held a wonderful surprise from my beloved God Mum. She never forgets a chance to make a day special, that’s for sure. In my mailbox lay a very fat letter addressed to me. I never get worthy mail around here. No cards to brighten my day. Not even unwanted news from a distant relative. Just bills and advertisements. I’m grateful I get anything, as I love opening my mailbox to received letters. To find a surprise letter was a welcomed treat.

In an adorable little card were four packages of seed. All my favorites. Forget-Me-Not’s, Shasta Daisy’s, Marigolds, and a Butterfly Garden Mix. All happy flowers for a happy gardener. That’s the thing about flowers. They are medicine for a winter weary soul. Just the pictures on the front of the packages make me smile while I think of all the fun I plan to have cocooned in the back yard of Winterpast.

For the last two years, I’ve been a Grieving Gardener. But, now, I consider myself a Gardener who Grieves on Occasion. Holding VST’s favorite shovel, I notice how worn out it is. How many hours, days, weeks, months, and years we worked side-by-side to create beauty. Although our physical projects were always stunning, the beauty of our relationship was the real masterpiece. Now, these memories make me smile. I want that beauty surrounding me again but this time, I need to create it on my own.

Wishing I lived where these flowers would bloom all year long, I accept that they might not ever mature here in the desert. There are terms you accept when living in a harsh climate. I always thought I needed mind numbing surroundings to thrive. Yet, I find the simple signs of spring here on the desert beautiful. Four defined seasons is something I never experienced in the continuous fair weather of the Central Valley of California. It was wither fog or 100 degree days. That was life in the Central Valley, something I’d find very boring at this stage of my life.

Now, it’s time to get busy with my garden check list. It’s time to make my plans and watch the projected weather forecast. Soon, I’ll call my garden expert, Mr. B, and get the water turned on. Oliver will, once again, be on toad patrol and interested in eating my emitters. Shovels need sharpening. Pots need to filling. The patio furniture will once again make the back yard my favorite place in the world.

Stay tuned tomorrow for suggestions for readying your garden plans. Spring is just 13 days away!!!!

Until then, Happy Monday!!!!

Yesterday was the perfect day to pull up VST’s big office chair and snuggle to the taxes. One day is as good as the next when retired. A blustery winter Friday seemed fitting, so I opened the Tomb of Taxes Past and got to work.

Visiting with girlfriends over lunch on Wednesday, I mentioned that I prepare my own taxes. They seemed a bit horrified. VST and I always completed our own. We faced an audit at the ranch one year in the 1900’s. The auditor was there for less than three hours and walked away shaking her head. She expected to find hidden money for the government. After examining a huge binder full of hundreds of supporting documents, all organized and at the ready, she found a mistake in our favor. We assured her we were happy to leave things as they were.

VST and I always shared the unpleasant task of preparing the tax forms. Four eyes were better than two. Two brains better than one. Through the years, I learned I’d rather be the Outlaw of Tax Town while VST followed every single tax rule to the max. Between the two of us, we’d settle nicely in the safety of the middle between jail and paying way to much.

2022, my second year widowed, the first TT entry was the saddest. This year I’m required to file S (Single). Just one word. No MFJ (Married Filing Jointly) as I did for 33 years. Just S. It’s the smallest things that make us stumble.

After that, Turbo Tax did the work. Asking questions and then providing appropriate worksheets, it was simple. I do have some tips to make things much better as you create your new banking world as a widow or widower.

After you nice feature is that it provides a printable Tax History of prior years that to keep with your final documents. Information can be uploaded from your banking institutions. It’s possible to E-File your taxes on this program, or you can send them snail mail. All in all, it works for me. I order my program in December on Amazon. They have lots of choices. Luckily, with no state taxes in Nevada, I only need the Federal version.

At the beginning of each year, decide on a dedicated place to collect the various tax papers that will arrive. Organization is key. You may need to print copies from online accounts. My bank emailed notice when they were ready. I made paper copies and those went with the rest. If you are just getting organized now, find papers related to income, such as W-2’s, and the various 1099’s. Then, find documents showing deductible expenses, such as property tax or medical bills.

Now is a great time to clean out your filing drawer, if you have one. Organizing my office drawer always starts with the best intentions, but by December, mine is just a crowded mess. Going through the drawer, I remove everything from the prior year, deciding what will be filed away with the taxes and what to discard. This is an important step before beginning anything. When organized, any task, even the most unpleasant, goes much better.

Turbo Tax offers two choices when beginning. You can go it on your own, or be guided through each step. Their guide is helpful. By answering easy questions, you are led through a maze to the end, as the amount of your tax liability shows at the top of the screen. Up and down it goes. Where it stops, only Turbo Tax knows.

Finally, it’s time for a final review and then, decisions about how you will receive your refund or pay up. In my case, let’s just say that it took a minute to find something for which to be grateful about the final amount shown.

Americans are blessed to live in such a wonderful country with beautiful states and towns. With a positive attitude, I will send my taxes into the world, focusing on the good the $$$ will do to make a better world. That’s the best way. Send them with blessings to Do No Harm. When I hear of a project I support, I”ll choose to believe with all my heart that a few cents of my money went to help with that. For those things I find abhorrent, I choose to believe my funds didn’t reach that far. It’s better to keep a cheerful attitude about something of which we’ve no control.

I’m not sending my taxes until April, but they are complete. I hope VST is up in heaven smiling at the job I did. I hope the IRS angels will approve. Turbo Tax says that I have almost no chance of triggering an audit with the information given. 2021 Taxes are put to bed. I hope 2022 Taxes are gentler to the pocketbook.

As a new widow, I wasn’t afraid to seek help the first year. I prepared my taxes as usual and then went to a CPA referred by a close friend. For $100, it was worth the peace of mind. There is always someone that can help when you are just not sure what to do.

Taxes and death. There is no escaping either one. With a new storm blowing in, I plan to spend the day doing something pleasant. Soup in the Crock Pot. Saturday Chores. The Singing Nun as my Movie of the Day. Whatever you do, enjoy.

More tomorrow…….

_{Excerpt from page 89}

“I was raised in a religious home, but I had to live in the wilderness to experience the meaning of faith. In the States, I accepted what my people believed, conformed to what was prescribed, and bothered my head no further. Here, the slate is wiped clean of all creeds and doctrines; faith is stripped down to the fundamentals; and it becomes clear that all religion is no more and no less than the human soul reaching out to the Creator; that the individual alone, of his own free will and accord, must do the reaching. For me contact with God comes through his creation; the forests and the hills, the winds and the tides, the birds of the air, the creeping things upon the earth and the fishes in the sea, the starry heavens, the loyalty of a friend, love and devotion, faith and work, honor and awe.

I worship my god humbly before his manifestations, which go far beyond the doctrines of any Church. From deep within me my worship surges forth. I am thankful and humble. A divine force — a spiritual guidance surrounds and envelopes me. This I know, not how or why; I only know that I do know, and it cannot be different.

As your needs are great, you will pray. this I ought to know from experience. I have said prayers since I could talk — mumblings and say-words — yet I have never prayed truly until there was nothing else possible for me to do. These last few weeks I have prayed more than in all my life before.

My prayers will be answered only if I pray with all my heart and humbly accept the answer to my prayers. To receive help I must do my part ungrudgingly, no matter how hard it will be.

I must work with all my might and intelligence and pray as I work. Then all will be well with me and my child. Yes, I do sometimes doubt and question — much less now than at first. After all, I am only a mortal being, and I have been sorely tried.”

Martha Martin (Helen Bolyan)

At this very moment in time, you have the opportunity to see Great Dane puppies enter this world through Service Dog Project at Explore.Org. I found this site about five years ago when I was teaching middle school. If you’ve never heard about this site and you love nature, I would highly suggest you visit. After reaching Explore.Org, choose the square that says “Dog Bless You”. Click on the picture showing the black and white Great Dane. Service Dog Project also has a Social Media Links, as well as a site on You Tube.

On Explore.org, you’ll find all kinds of fantastic views of nature around the world. From the waves at Waikiki Beach to up-close coverage of fruit bats, there is something for everyone. The fruit bats, Bison, and of course, Service Dog Project are my favorite. The cameras are run by volunteers. At the time of this writing, “Bianca” is heavy with puppies and busy delivering them. Her care taker did have her x-rayed finding here are at least eleven hidden in there.

Service Dog Project produces puppies for people having issues with mobility and balance. Great Danes are the perfect height to lend support to people with balance issues. The preferred recipients are veterans who may also benefit from the calming personalities of these great dogs.

Many children have received these dogs, as well. The most famous pair are Bella and George. Bella lives with some rare medical challenges. She was losing her mobility when her mom found out about Service Dog Project. Bella went to Crazy Acres as a volunteer. She would receive a dog, but there was one problem. The dogs choose their person, and visit after visit, none of the dogs chose Bella. Not one.

Things were not looking good, when one day, out of the blue, George chose Bella. Just like that, they were a match. Bella and George have gained rock star status as a team. They were selected and won the 2015 AKC Humane Fund Award for Canine Excellence and have been featured on many television shows. Although George towers next to her, through his gentle strength and calm help Bella continues to walk on. If you Google “Bella and George”, have some Kleenex ready. Theirs is a great love story.

Another great pair are Scott Aubin and Grey, his second dog. Scott is an inspirational speaker who lives with PTSD. His story is another way a dog has done fantastic work to help a human. You can watch him speak on You Tube or read about him at his website ScottAubin.com.

Getting back to the puppies. The cameras roll 24/7. You may see squirming little puppies that are seconds old. You may see drama. You may see some puppies that cross over to the Rainbow Bridge. You see it all. There are also current comments from regular views and newbies. Everyone is learning while watching. It is not uncommon for a litter to take 24 hours to enter the world, so you have time. Please remember, the cameras are in a personal house 24/7. You see real life in real time.

Mail call is at 3 PM, M-F, at which time the sound is turned on and Carlene White, the head of the operation, opens mail and answers questions online. She runs Crazy Acres in Ipswich, Massachusetts where the daily drama unfolds. All this filming is in Carlene’s house. Crazy Acre’s is her farm. There is a lot to unpack with this story. Even more amazing is the fact that Carlene is in her mid 80’s. Almost everyone seen working there volunteers their time.

Crazy Acres is run on Chicken Poop. Truly. Each month, she sells Chick Bricks. This is actually a number on a board which cost $10 each. One Sunday a month everyone heads outside, where chickens are placed on a large board with 2,000 numbers. The first number on which a chicken poops wins the bragging rights for the month. By doing this, she funds Service Dog Project for one month. She has done this for years and never had a month she didn’t meet expenses. Crazy Acre runs literally runs on Chicken Poop.

Dog food is delivered by the truckload. Everything is large scale. Carlene usually has 60 danes at a variety of ages and training levels. Right now, she has a litter of 8 puppies born on Christmas Day and the newbies. The adorableness of the entire site is just too much.

If you have ever raised puppies, you know how much work they are. These puppies are treated as well as human babies, having care and nursing around the clock. The fluffy blankets are always pristine. The food and water on-time and fresh. The training unique to the jobs these dogs will perform in their lifetimes.

So, if you are totally bored today, go see some new life come into this world. Don’t judge. Just watch. You are bound to learn some pretty amazing things.

More tomorrow.

If you visit here, you like to read. So do I, although it’s been awhile since I’ve found something other than The Bible to hold my attention. I finally have a wonderful suggestion you might enjoy. “O Rugged Land of Gold”, by Martha Martin is a true story written during an Alaskan winter in the early 1900’s. According to her Great-Granddaughter, this intriguing woman wrote under a pen name. Her real name was Helen Bolyan. All names in the book were changed, even the location of the mine.

In the early 1900’s, Martha was a wife and the mother of her boy, Lloyd. With Lloyd away at school, Martha and her beloved husband, Don, were prospecting partners on Cobol Island in deserted Alaska. Martin was the self sufficient woman I would love to be. She was MacGyver x Mike Holmes of the women’s world. This woman was a proven survivor.

As the story begins, an injured Martha decides to write her story as she heals. The main reason for writing is to stay connected in some way. Similar to this blogger, except all she had was her journal and a heavenly host of angels to read her works. After the first two page-turning chapters of this book, I couldn’t put it down. Her accounts of loneliness, despair, talks with God, and worries about her unborn child are riveting and heart wrenching.

Details about two cabins in the wilderness and the instincts and knowledge needed to survive were amazing. When her beloved husband left on a short errand just before I storm blew in, she had few worries. Her decision to retrace some steps to retrieve an item proved disastrous in more ways than one.

In a snow storm, I have my groceries delivered. I drive a car anywhere I need to go. At night, a thermostat keeps my heater at a constant temperature. A refrigerator/freezer keeps my food from spoiling. All the comforts of home unless your home is off the grid in Alaska.

For 32 years, VST was always there to help in times of trouble. He took the risks when hard errands or chores had to be accomplished. He navigated the taxes and our business affairs. Being smart, he had the last say on many of our most important decisions, always after sharing his reasoning. He was a comfort when I was ill, never letting things get too bad before shuffling me off to the doctor. He was my lifeboat. Until he wasn’t. Martha’s husband Don, business partner Sam, and son Llloyd were all there for her until they weren’t.

In some of her darkest moments after her husband went on his distant errand, Martha heard his voice giving her needed direction and support. She was sure of it. Except that he wasn’t there. When a bear woke her as she slept, it was his voice that calmed her and helped her play dead. One of his old gloves found in a pile of leaves gave her the message she needed. Even though she had no way of knowing for sure, her heart found comfort that her Don would return to her side.

This story has everything. Risks people take because of greed and money. The excitement of adventure. Creating something from nothing. Trust. Faith. Hopelessness. Renewed faith. Strength in the dark. Drama. Beauty. All told in very plain language in a scared and pregnant mother’s journal while sitting all alone during an Alaskan winter.

Could you imagine being seven months pregnant without any supplies? Not a chance of a stray diaper or baby bottle just showing up? No support from friends and family? Just the observations made through the eyes of a deer or crow?

In reading the book, Martha spells out well planned provisions. At the mountain cabin, they had nuts, raisins, and other dried fruits. They had plenty of flour, sugar, and tea. While gardening, they raised carrots and potatoes, although the sizes were small due to the short growing season. As survivalists go, Martha and Don did a pretty good job, except that both cabins weren’t stocked equally.. Unfortunately, she depended on both for different reasons.

Her troubles continued when she finally decided to escape on the boat for a 31 hour trip to civilization. She had hesitated to try this, as she was 7 months pregnant. She was also certain her Don was on his way. Her biggest problem was a lack of needed strength to start the engine. Although never mentioned, I assumed she needed to pull a starter rope to turn the flywheel. At any rate, with the engine finally started, disaster struck in the worst way. For days, back at the beach cabin, she heard the boat engine running, until it finally stopped.

So, if you are sitting around with nothing to read, find a copy of “O Rugged Land of Gold”. Think of Martha and Don, and the faith it took for them to dream their adventure and then go for it. Enjoy.

More tomorrow.