This Week at Iten's Acres: Ergo July 1, 2013

This week at Iten's Acres--and if the weatherman is correct--most of next week too, rain--every day this week was pretty much the same.  (Yes, a thunder storm is pretty--gorgeous even, especially at night.)

f   l   a   s   h      f l a s h  flash flashflash  FLASH
t   h  u  n  d  e  r    thunder  thunderrrrrr  thunderrrrrrrrr  THUNDERATION  CRASH
rain drop     rain drop   rain drops  rainrainrainrain

Ergo:
Lots of limbs to pick up.  (Lost a big chunk of one of the walnuts.  Too bad it wasn't the whole thing.)
The brush piles in the wild area are getting larger.
The Acres are soggy.
The Sounds of Silence:
     The lawn mower sits in the shed listening and hoping for a brief dry spell so that it can roar into action      and parkize the Acres.
     The grass--laughing silently--grows and grows and grows.  Mocking el Toro.
     The pond moves on toward lake status.
     Many flowers wait patiently for a touch of sunshine to bring them from bud to bloom.

Such is life in the fields and flower beds of Morrow County this end of June, 2013.  Wet.  Can a drought be far behind?  It is Ohio after all.  Where's my FSA?

Yes, "ergo" is a country word,  Where is she?  It's rainy.  'Ergo inside.  Only, in this case it's ego inside--and a little white used to be she.  Who loves watching it rain, by the way.  Strange cat.  Brain dead.

The History of Iten's Acres: A Joyful Sorrow June 24, 2013

As I walk the Acres in 2013, I, as always, take great joy in the beauty of the Acres.  From the pussy willow by the pond garbed in silver in late February til the yellow and purple waves of goldenrod and asters glorify the wild area in November, I will find joy each day as I walk and embrace God's artistry.  Right now, the stars of the show are the lilies, and they have only begun to shine.  Sure, nothing is perfect.  The number of iris blooms was way down this May, but the ones that did bloom were lovely indeed.  Sure, it looks like a down year for the phlox as well.  But I did find a yellow flag iris that loves being in the bog.  And a few new Japanese iris bloomed this year--a couple are blooming right now.  And the lily "harvest" looks as if it will be spectacular.  Joy is everywhere!
But there is sorrow here as well as I walk each day.  Mom's not here this year to share it with me.  No reason to bring bouquets into the house.  I'm not a great fan of bouquets--neither was Mom--but with her inability to walk the Acres with me, I brought the flowers to her.  No more.  And her container garden outside the doorwindows is spectacular again this year and will only grow lovelier as the days pass.  But she's not here to enjoy it.  No one to sit on the patio, floppy pink hat, sunglasses, et. al. and enjoy the flowers in the planters and the beauty of the beds near the house.  I sit there once in awhile--sans floppy hat and sunglasses, of course. 
There is a missing presence here at the Acres.  As long as God allows me to live here--and I pray it will be a long time--Mom will always be here.  And I cherish that.  I would love to tell her that her idea of a white iris bed by the pond was stunning this year.  Magnificent!  I would love to tell her that her idea of a rock garden in the meadow was gorgeous this spring once more.  I would love to bring her a new wild flower that had been added to the Acres this year by my Gardening Angels, and ask her to identify it.  She was always right--or at least, she came up with a name she was sure of. =)  I would love to remind her over and over and over again that the little blue flowers in the flower bed that she could see from her chair were called balloon flowers.  I would love to show her the new bed the Ziff family enabled me to install this year in her memory.  But such things will not be.  She is not here.  She will never be here again.
And yet, there is joy here.  Always.  Mom is here in my memories.  I even still sense a need when mowing the Acres to stop and check my cell phone to see if she called and needed anything--or forgot where I was.  Yes, I rejoice daily in the beauty that is here.  And I rejoice that for parts of five years I could share the beauty with Mom.  Two joyful hearts are better than one, eh?  It was an exquisite time--heartaches, frustrations for sure at times, but a lovely five years of sharing the blessings of God's creation--sharing the things we both loved, the things she had taught me to love from a little child.

". . . such sweet sorrow."

Homesteader Update: Alive and Well and Still in Charge June 24, 2013

The white dish rag is still alive and well and in charge.  Although I think she has a death wish.  She, as always, likes to follow me around the house wherever I go.  Oh, I know, it's curiosity not endearment.  If I'm just sitting by the doorwindows, she wanders off wherever she pleases and does whatever she wants.  But if I get up and start to move around, I quickly inherit a white shadow.  Her "death wish"?  She has the habit of just suddenly "trotting" right in front of me as I walk and then, just as suddenly, flopping on the floor.  A living cat rug.  Even though, I have on occasion nearly stumbled over her, she is undeterred and continues to "do the flop."  If she played in the NBA, she would have been fined a million dollars by now; not that she would pay.  It is her world you know.  She makes the rules.
She's recovered nicely from her latest surgery, but she looks a little strange with a nearly hairless patch on her stomach.  I'm sure it will all grow back soon, and she'll be her perfect, beauteous self again.  Not that she now, or ever, has doubted for a moment her good looks.
I am a little worried about her dog-like behavior.  Whenever I go outside for awhile and come back in, she greets me at the door, demands that I pet her, and fills me in on everything that happened while I was away.  Of course, she swishes her tail not wags it, meows and doesn't bark, but it does seem a little dog-like dependent behavior.  I'm sure it's just her cat way of being sure I bow in obeisance and recognize that nothing has changed--she is still the queen of the world.
Her newest form of entertainment is summer related.  Now, when I come in from one of my walks, invariably a bug or two comes in with me.  And the hunt is on.  She loves the chase.  Keeps her slim and trim, I'm sure.  I find her at times walking around checking out the windows for some additional protein.  Who needs a fly swatter when you have an ornery cat around the house.  Sorry for the redundancy.

Today at Iten's Acres: Summertime and the Living is . . . June 21, 2013

Summertime in Ohio is here!  Officially and actually.  If you were going to print out a brochure describing the typical Ohio day in the summer, you would just have to describe today.  Hot.  Near ninety.  Humidity.  Near a million.  Okay, a little exaggeration, but not much.  It was almost too hot and humid to "work."  Almost.  I probably lost a few pounds in a very short time of weeding and mulching.  It was suffocating.  The outlaws behind their invisible barrier were all stretched out in the shade.  Even Big Brown who is free to roam was only intent on getting a shade tan.  He did take a quick dip in the pond--just to make his doggy friends jealous, I'm sure--but then back to the comfort of the trees.  It was even hot work just to walk the Acres.  Hey, just to sit on the green throne and look at everything was hot!  Summertime in Ohio.  The day did end with the obligatory thunderstorm--which was gorgeous.  And the lightning bugs did play laser tag late into the night.  They must not mind the heat since they carry their own fire.  Anyway, it was a summer's day in Morrow County.  "Summertime, and the living is sweaty."  Yuk.

Riding Iten's Acres: Pathitis June 20, 2013

I've been fighting a bad case of pathitis lately. It's especially dangerous when it afflicts me while I'm on my mower. The disease actually comes in two forms. One--that usually is at its greatest during the autumn (occasionally in mid-May) causes the ill person to put flowers in old paths and then, to let the old paths grow up again reclaiming their wildness--with a touch of naturalized beauty. The "destructive" one usually arises within the soul this time of year--the first days of summer. It causes the afflicted to decide he needs new paths where there have never been paths before. The danger is that you're never quite sure what you may be cutting down. In my case, I pride myself in knowing where most of the "good stuff" comes up, even in the wild area. We all know how marvelous pride is in being right. And who knows what the Gardening Angels might have been up to over the winter? Sigh. I succumbed. There are four new paths in the wild area.
(But, heh-heh, I can always get the other type of pathitis this fall.)

This Week at Iten's Acres: The Outlaws Meet Technology

The gang has been separated by technology. My neighbor put up an electric fence to make sure his little beagle doesn't get into the road and get hit. I can't blame him. Poor Stella--his beautiful black lab--lost her life to one of those speeding back road demons. So, this will keep the beagle safe.
It does mean the end of the gang. Bonnie stays away. Even brain-dead Gus has learned to keep his distance. The only slow learner has been the little beagle. I feel guilty--a little--because whenever I'm out walking or "working," she wants to run over and "help." Yowl!!!! Several times already. And there is an element of injustice here: the old huge brown lab that visits on occasion is impervious to the shock. She doesn't have a collar, so she just runs right through it like it's not even there, joins me for my walks, and keeps me company. Bonnie will join us once in awhile. The alpaca are scared to death of the lab and squeal--I don't know what else to call it--whenever she's with me out back in the meadow. Protective Bonnie comes racing to the rescue, but when she sees who it is, she just joins us, tail wagging, completely out of guarding mode. Hats off to Gus. Sorry little beagle. Welcome Big Brown. Let's walk, shall we?

This Week at Iten's Acres: Alphabet Games June 10, 2013

The iris are all but gone--sigh. Hopefully, a few of the re-bloomers will come back in the fall or, in some cases, bloom for the first time this year. I do have a few Japanese iris that have yet to bloom, but they're always later than the German "brand." Soon as they bloom, I'll let you see them--if you're being good.
Walking the Acres this weekend, I discovered a swarm of bees hanging out in the old dogwood; my kind of "buzzards". Every bit as large as a basketball (the swarm not the dogwood). Eventually, they moved off to somewhere else; wish they would have stayed in the Acres. Keeping an eye on the hive in The Sentinel to make sure this wasn't that swarm moving out of the neighborhood!
At this time of year there is always a "lull" of sort in the beautification of the Acres. The iris have faded out, and the lilies are not yet in full array--soon I hope.
I do have some roses blooming--whites and reds primarily. The pink and the rose-colored rose (sounds weird, I know) are about ready to join the rose parade. Elsewhere--think Wild Area--blue and white are in--especially the white--daisies by the zillions. Not too many blues--just a few "batches" of spider-wort. Some of the lilies, I must admit, are starting to bloom, mostly yellows and a couple reds.
Also, "rode the Acres" this week. Cut the back and the front; it looks park-like, if I don't say--write--so myself. Robins and red-winged blackbirds are nesting around the pond so I am not welcome there or by the bog. Even chubby old bald humans must recognize their place in the pecking order at Iten's Acres. Spring is winding down; summer is headed our way---can't wait!

Backroads of Morrow County: Beginnings June 4, 2013

It has begun. The farmer's reward and risk. The winter wheat is several inches high. Still green--not enough time and sun yet for "amber waves of grain." But it can't be too long. I'm sure I can hear the wheat singing in the wind. "O, beautiful for spacious skies . . ." Most of the other fields show evidence of crops too. I say "most" because a few fields are still not plowed--notably, the one across the way from me. The agricultural engineer who plows it usually does it "late" so I'm not worried. Last year corn. This year I expect soy beans. Everywhere else--almost--the long green lines of plants are racing toward the horizons. The corn is distinctive. There's no doubt what it is. The soy beans not so much. I assume that it's soy beans though now it merely looks like small green patches of "weedy" stuff stretching off into the distance. They are not yet big enough to "connect." They look like fields of green polka dots at this point. But before you know it, they will be cords of green.
The only wild flowers along the roads are wild phlox, daisies, and sweet pea. Pink and white borders nodding "welcome" as I drive past. The "doormats" of dusty roads. The doves have already committed themselves to wire sitting. The swallows are practicing their wind skimming. No doubt already gathering lunch for the kids. The blue birds grace the open meadows with an occasional meadowlark to add some yellow and black--and a song. The red-wings are everywhere--the neighborhood fussing crones. The red-headed woodpeckers are in their usual haunts. Red, black, and silver-white they are always a feast for my eyes. An occasional goldfinch will arc his way across the road, just showing off I imagine--like most males. The bird life of Morrow County is in full swing--or should I say full wing. Gorgeous, for sure.
Surprisingly, the wet spring has led to some early haying. I saw an older man, a younger man, and a boy at work in the field down the road from me. History at work. Grandpa, son, grandson making a team. The boy was too small to be of much help, but the knowledge of generations was, no doubt, being filtered down to him. Not much help, but probably the most important person in the field. The knowledge of good farming is being passed down, and the lad is our hope. May he see joy in the labor and nourish a love for it. Grandpa--as this grandpa knows--is not as strong as he once was at the work, but he has the "tricks and resolution" to pass on Santiago-like to the "boy" that he loves. Dad--son--is the evidence that grandpa knows what he's doing and is worthy of emulation in this labor of love for the land, the animals who will feast on the hay, and the farmers who earn their living--and ours--in the historical story of mankind's relationship to his "place on earth" as Wendell would call it. As I watch them, a favorite quote comes to mind: "Simplicity carried to extremes is elegance." Not to mention lovely in its generational way.
Yep, it has begun. Rural America, Adam-like, facing the hardships of life, at the mercy of the weather, learning the beauty and character building of hard work--and the joy of family.

Today at Iten's Acres: Suing the World May 24, 2013

I'm going to sue. Whom you ask? The weather channel, all the weatherpersons on the local channels, and the Farmer's Almanac. Why you ask? They declared that there would be no frost in Ohio after May 15th. Prevaricators. ("Liars" sounds so harsh.) Charges you ask? Extreme physical trauma. I should not have had to cover a zillion plants on May 24th. Severe emotional stress. It is impossible to cover all the plants that have come up that would be susceptible to frost on May 25th. I had to choose. Heartbreaking. Evidence you ask? We have them all on tape. Well, FA is on paper. "The frost date for Ohio is May 15th. You can go buy your flowers now and plant them worry free." Open and shut case--the wretches. Oh, don't give me this "we can't control the weather" excuse. Then, quit acting as if you can. Quit trying to be the Nostradamus of weather. (He didn't know what he was talking about either, by the way.) All that you own will be mine. Heh, heh. Hey, maybe it's a conspiracy? Maybe the nurseries pay them to say that? We buy our flowers, plant them, the frost comes. Flowerslaughter occurs. We beauty addicts have to go buy some more to replace the ones that got the cold shoulder. Hmmmmm. I'll have to have my lawyers check their bank statements. I will own the world.

Walking Iten's Acres: Good News, Bad News May 22, 2013

Do you want the good news first or the bad news?

Bad news: It's been a terrible, horrible, excruciatingly disappointing iris spring. Four of my beds that are usually loaded have either had only one bloom or as of now have only one bulb that hasn't even bloomed yet. My iris eyes are not smiling. And I don't think they're just running late because there aren't even any bulbs.

Good news: The ones that have bloomed are stunning. Look for the pictures on Saturday. Some real beauties. And several of them are first timers at the acres.

More good news: Wild turkey in the Back 40. She must have been just sitting in the tall grass watching me. Only when I turned to walk toward where she was concealed did she hit the air waves. Monstrous bird. Great aviator too. Called me something in turkish that I'm sure was not an "Oh, glad to see you chubby, old bald human." I was surprised. Maybe she has a nest back there? I'll have to stay away for awhile and see. Don't want to be a family wrecker.

More bad news: She almost gave me a heart attack. I am now 70--lost three years off my life. At least.

I'll end with good news: I've been trying since I moved here to find something that would thrive in my bog and add color to the Acres. Now, my gardening angels have added some monkey grass and just a tad of trollius, but no success for me. Well, along the edge I have some wild hyacinth, Japanese and Siberian Iris, and some hibiscus that have bloomed--but just along the edges. But, la di dah, this year I have three patches of gorgeous yellow water iris right in the middle of the bog! I planted them last fall under a great deal of skepticism. I mean, what flower enjoys being drowned for most of the year--submerged in swamp water? The answer: yellow flag iris. I repent of my skepticism and gladly do a bog dance!!

This Week at Iten's Acres: A Month of Five Days May 18, 2013

It feels as if I tried to pack the whole month of May into five days. And the weirdness of the weather didn't help. Frost on Monday morning, eighty degrees by the end of the week, and a monsoon rain storm in between. Ah, well. I enjoyed sitting in the recliner, lights off, watching the storm move in: strong winds bending the trees, day night, day night as the lightning ricocheted across the acres, raucous thunder, and then torrents of rain turning the acres into a morass one more time this spring. Quite a storm.
The highlight of the week was, of course, loading down my little red wagon with tons of flowers from Baker's Acres. I always go back and forth between thinking I have enough to fill my planters to wondering if I need to get a few more. Invariably, by the time I've planted everything--and what a lovely day and a half that was--I"m a few plants short. My problem is I'm a "planter packer." I put lots of the little beauties in each pot. Can't help myself. Ah well. I can pick up a few more somewhere. Mom's container garden is luscious. Even though she's not here to enjoy it--and give her advice--I'm sure she would love it: snapdragons, petunia, geraniums, dianthus, marigolds, bright eyes, zinnia, dahlia, salvia, lantana--all her favorites. And the ruby throat has already checked them out and given his approval. I believe he may like the real thing better than the "fake" red "flower juice" in the feeder. (Actually, there's two of them, and the battle is raging for summer squatter rights.) Next, on the work schedule is some mulching and some weed thinning. With all the rain and the days I spent out of town, my beds are overrun. Not than I mind that much. Some of the weeds will be beautiful when they bloom. And the one's that don't will be overshadowed by the flowers. I am a little concerned that the cool, wet spring may limit my iris show. That would be depressing for an iris addict like myself. But maybe, they'll just be a little late this year. I certainly won't scold them for that.
The flower planting did cause me to put off mowing the front of the Acres the day before the storm. Ugh. And it's supposed to rain again tomorrow. The grass will be high again when--if--I can find a warm, sunny day to feed the bluebirds. They have been patiently sitting on the wires waiting for me to do my catering.
And, of course, Homesteader had her surgery this week. My sense of time was so discombobulated that I accidentally took her in a day early. They were gracious enough to take her anyway. Good thing. It's a major production to get her into the carrier. Wears an old man out. She's smarter than I am, a zillion times quicker than I am, and not the least bit interested in taking a ride in a cage. Perseverance won out, eventually. She's home now and doing great, though not exactly feeling fully frisky. Lots of nap time. In between name calling.
Yep, another week at the Acres has slipped away. Seems like a month, at least. But thankfully, it wasn't. Two more glorious weeks of May to go--and I promise to enjoy them. And I'm sure I'll post some pictures for you. Be patient!

Homesteader Update: Trauma II May 15, 2013

It will be a traumatic day for the Homesteader--aka Nosy Rosy, aka white dish rag, aka CAT!! As of today there will be no chance of kittens in her future. I couldn't begin to imagine a whole house full of the furry troublemakers.
At least the day should be quiet and trauma free. No one to give me a "piece of her mind" about anything and everything. No one to try to kick me out of her recliner so she can comfortably watch what's going on outside on her Acres. No one to vainly pounce on the doorwindow in an attempt to attack the neighborhood chipmunks. No one to knock around her favorite new plaything--a plastic football--all over the house. I have no idea where she found it. But, ah, is it ever a noise maker. She must enjoy the unpredictability of its bounces. She plays with it everywhere. Amusing to watch, entertaining little creature. Well, it's not so entertaining at 4 A.M. I'm going to have to send her to obedience school so she can learn to tell time. Not that that would change anything. It is her house after all. But today and tonight it will be quiet and uneventful. I can type on the computer without her interference. I can eat without getting a lecture on sharing. I can sit in the recliner and read the paper without all the commentary, and the "Don't you think it's time to get out of my chair" blueyellow eyed stares. I can sleep all night. I can wake up on my own, not to the tune of paw prints up and down my back, a wet nose in my face, and "the get up lazy human" serenade. Ah, a day of peace. (It will be nice to have her back tomorrow. Hey! Quit reading between the parenthese!)

Backroads of Morrow County: Glass Half-full May 5, 2013

It's glass half-full, glass half-empty time along the roads of Morrow County.

Some of my feathered friends are back. The red-winged blackbirds are everywhere, sitting on the wires, fussing at each other. The swallows are back skimming over the swamp having dinner. I saw a small green-blue heron there as well. But--no meadowlark yet. I hope they return again to the meadow down the road from me. I'll miss their voice in the choir if they don't spend a summer here. Not to mention the flashes of yellow and black disappearing into the tall grasses. And I have not yet seen the deep ethereal bluish flash of the indigo bunting as well. Bluer than the bluest sky.
Many of the trees are turning enviously green. But not all of them. And I doubt if any of them are completely full of green. (Conifers don't count!) Oh, they will be in full leaf soon. The hidden houses that were revealed through the winter's bareness will soon be invisible again. My cave in two or three weeks will be practically unnoticeable by those traveling down County Road 25--just the way an old bald recluse likes it.
The same flowering bushes and shrubs that are bursting with color on my acres are doing the same on everyone else's property as well. Though I must confess, some of my neighbors have different trees than I do--tulip trees and Bradford pears, for example--and some of them have bigger trees than I do, too. There are a plethora of huge lilac bushes around these parts. It will take a decade or so for my little lilacs to attain such heights of beauty. And, oh! to slow down and roll down the window is glorious. God's incense. Yes, there are multitudes of folks out here that as I pass their acres, I imagine that we would make fast friends--beautiful tree lovers must unite!
As I meander the backroads only about half the fields are plowed so far. As you know, I love their symmetry. I'm sure the others will get their parallel lines soon. It will be joyous--believe it or not--to watch the growth of summer crops. Even now, the process has begun. Seeds are dying, the growth will begin, early rains, latter rains, sunshine, abundant fruitfulness. In the fields and in life the progress is the same. It can't be rushed. And you must trust the grace of the God who brings the rain and the sun to do His work at His pace. It is totally beyond our power to control. May we all develop the patience and faith of the farmer.
I passed more than a few farmers doing their plowing. Huge green beasts chewing up the soil. You can see the dust settling from a mile away--long before you reach them at work in the fields. Impressive. But I will be taking trips into Amish territory so I can see the proud work horses pulling their plows. Gorgeous and impressive. Lovers of a hard day's toil.
Ah, most the birds are here. But the glass won't be full until the meadowlark arrives. And the indigo bunting. More than half the trees are green; but they are not all green yet, and none of them are completely clothed in their summer richness. And the hidden houses can still be seen by the traveler of the backroads. Jealously, some of my trees are only half as mature as my neighbors. All the beauty but half the size. Only half of the fields are plowed and planted. The mystery of growth is just beginning. But half the fields have not yet been churned into geometrical masterpieces, and I have not yet found any team of horses prancing in the joy of the labor they were created for. Indeed, the "glass is half empty," but I am not sad or disappointed. The joy of my wanderings on the backroads of Morrow County is to watch the "glass" fill up. Wouldn't have it any other way. A toast to the half-full glass of Morrow County. Beautiful!

Riding Iten's Acres: First Cuts May 3, 2013

I spent the last two afternoons riding the Acres. For some, I suppose, cutting the grass would be a chore. I love it! Being outside, cruising the property, beheading a thousand dandelions, life is good. By mid-summer the barn swallows will join me for lunch when I cut the meadow and the wild area out back, and the blue birds will join me when I cut the front, winding my way among the flower beds. Today, it was just me and the robins. Well, the redwings fussed a bit when I cut near the pond, but they were a little subdued for them--guess there aren't any fledglings yet. The birds at the feeder just ignore me.
I am expanding the wild area a tad--again. I just am in love with God's wildness, and the beauty of the natural wildflowers of Ohio. Oh, I "seeded" the area with some daffodils, iris, lilies, monarda, spiderwort, and grape hyacinths. I threw in a few handfuls of wild flower seeds as well. Can't wait to see what happens this summer and fall. Don't worry, I still have plenty of meadow, the back forty, the orchard, and the rock garden out back, so it's still wide open. A park--minus the picnic tables.
The flowering trees and shrubs are magnificent--as I mentioned before: several redbuds, red and white crab apples, white and pink dogwoods, apple trees, pear trees, marsh marigold, red and white bleeding hearts, lilacs, azalea--color is everywhere painted on God's blue canvas. A few daffodils are still around--two or three dozen small white ones and the miniature golden bells are the last to bloom. They'll be around another ten days or so. A couple dozen tulips of various colors dot the flower beds and other areas, dozens of grape hyacinth are still blooming, the rock garden is a carpet of thrift and creeping phlox, and the first iris bloomed today. It caught me by surprise suddenly appearing in the rock garden. Two others are about to bloom--the usual early bloomers--a rosy white one and a yellow. Yes, all this beauty means my riding looks as if I'm in the middle of some city in rush hour traffic: stop and go, stop and go, stop and go. And sadly, my mower is a single seater so you'll have to walk the Acres if you want to see everything. Fear not! I will not run you over. Probably.
Two days of riding the Acres for the first time in 2013. I can't wait until it morphs into Feeding the Bluebirds and Feeding the swallows. Flying flowers are luscious too.

Today at Iten's Acres: A Red Feather Day April 30, 2013

It must be red day in the feathered kingdom: The rose-breasted grosbeak has arrived--well, the male anyway. The female has been here for a couple weeks already. And the ruby-throated hummingbird arrived today as well. I love red.

Walking Iten's Acres: Gardening Angels April 30, 2013

My Gardening Angels didn't do much the five days that I was gone. I understand the weather didn't help much. My land is still wet and sloppy. It has been a rainy, cold spring. But there's two months to go. I will be patient. I will be patient. I will be patient. Though it is particularly difficult to do so with the iris. No sign of any buds yet. The winter of 2011 messed up my expectations. Last year things started blooming in February. This year they are back to normal--whatever normal is in Ohio. I guess, there really isn't such a thing as normal when it comes to Ohio.
Not that all is lost. Some daffodils are still blooming; in fact, a couple dozen or so haven't even bloomed yet. And that's not even counting the dozens of miniature golden bell daffodils that are just starting to add their yellow tiny trumpets to the beauty of the beds. Puddles of grape hyacinth are everywhere. Lots of tulips and more to go. The thrift and creeping phlox are warming up. And the flowering trees are raring to show off. The redbud are already living up to their name. The pear and apple trees--including the crab apples--are on the verge of brilliance. The dogwoods--white and pink--should be in full bloom by the end of the week. The flowering almond are sharing their pink view of the world, and one azalea has started to bloom. And everywhere--yes, everywhere--the Gardening Angels have sprinkled the world with violets--purples, whites, two-tones, even a few yellows. Sometimes the ordinary is so gorgeous I miss it. Thousands and thousands of dabs of color everywhere you look. Oh, and don't forget the bleeding hearts--whites and reds beautifying the shady areas everywhere.
I guess I owe the Gardening Angels an apology. The Acres, as May comes in, are a lovely place to take a nice long walk--or two, or three, or . . .

This Week at Iten's Acres: Musings April 12, 2013

Weather: We had weather every day this week. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I feel as if there may have even been some sunshine earlier in the week. You know--that bright yellow thing that sometimes--once a month or so--hovers over the Ohio landscape bringing warmth. Of course, we also had a hail storm this week. Didn't really do any damage unless you call sending the Homesteader into a frenzy watching all those little white orbs ricocheting everywhere outside the doorwindow--just beyond her reach, "damage." I call it a good laugh. An ark of rain the last couple of days, too. The creeks of Morrow County are peeking over the edge of all those picturesque one lane bridges. And the Acres are under water. FAS: the forsythia are starting to bloom--three more snows!
Creature Features: A herd of deer went leaping across the upper meadow yesterday. Out of Aaron's pines, through my trees, and into Dennis' thickets. I hope they kept going across the road, through the swamp, and into the trees on the other side. Keep your appetites away from my flowers you varmints! Speaking of varmints, the ticks are here. I'll have to get some Frontline for the white dish rag. No, she doesn't go out, but invariably I bring some of those wretches into the house after I've walked the Acres in spring. The squirrel population declined this week. Heh, heh. And, I think the newest member of the Outlaws has puppies. No, really. The gang will be a pack! Dennis has his "flock" roaming free. I'm sorry city folks but a herd of animals feeding on a hillside--regardless of its size--defines "serenity." (Miss you Blaze.)
Beauty Update: For the eyes--it's daffodil time. They only started blooming in earnest this week, and I have, at least, 500-600 blooms today all over the landscape. Myriads more to come. In the beds, surrounding the pond, in the trees, laying siege to the mound, out along the edges of the meadow, scattered throughout the wild area: if you love yellows and whites and pinks--and eventually oranges--rejoice, it's daffodil time. They are great for naturalizing--grow anywhere, the beasts don't like them, multiply like crazy.
For the olfactory glands: hyacinth. They also appeal to the eyes: brilliant dark colors and soft pastel colors. And, ah, the lovely scents. I only have a few dozen of them scattered everywhere, but they add diversity to the Acre's color scheme this time of year. And grow anywhere, too. Throw in the pansies I planted in various places, the spring beauties that God planted everywhere, the "fattening" of the buds on the trees, and the walks are lovely in mid-April on Iten's Acres. Next, will be the forsythia in full bloom, the redbuds, the tulips that the rabbits don't eat, and the bleeding hearts! Let's hear it for April. Well, let's see it and smell it for April!
My Feathered Friends: As mentioned before the goldfinch have bloomed. Robins are everywhere in hoards. The red-wings are staking claims to nesting sites in the pond and the bog. A male towhee dropped by the feeder this week. I think I saw a female grosbeak as well which means the males will be here soon. Still a few snowbirds around--reading the blooms on the forsythia I imagine. No sign of the ruby throats yet. Or the indigo buntings. Or the meadowlarks. Soon. I hope. Why is it that the bird world is so opposite the human race? For the most part, the male birds are the gorgeous ones and the females rather plain. In we humans--well, sorry guys, it's backwards. Or frontwards, maybe. Oh, the road-kill-clean-up-crew is back--all a buzz. No beauty there in either gender. I almost forgot. The swallows aren't back yet, either. Guess they're waiting for lawn mower season.
I did do a little work this week, in case you were worried. Raked some leaves out of a few beds. Got to get some sun on the iris! Planted a couple things as well. Still have to plant the gladiolas and some seed packets, but that can wait. I think I'll go rest awhile on the bench by the pond. Then, maybe I'll spend a little time on the top of the hill resting in the green throne. I'm developing the Iten heresy. "One day shalt thou labor, and six days shalt thou rest." Forgive me, Lord. I will go job hunting once May gets here, I promise.

Backroads of Morrow County: The Cure April 8, 2013

For those of you who have not yet recovered from the angst of childhood . . . for those of you who wake up at night in cold sweats knowing that your childhood searches for the meaning of life remain unfulfilled . . . for those of you who still have bouts of blurry, fuzzy vision . . . Listen very, very, very, carefully:

Take 23 North to Marion.
Turn right--West--on 95.
At the fourth traffic light, turn right again on 98--South.
Go EXACTLY nine miles----And--------you will find Waldo. Every time. Guaranteed.
Sure. Glad I could help. I knew my ricocheting all around the backroads of Ohio would someday lead to a cure for something. Not my roving malady, but something.

Walking Iten's Acres: Extraordinary April 4, 2013

It's amazing what three days of sun and slowly warming temperatures can do for the Acres! More crocus blooming, more dwarf iris, primrose, wood hyacinth (can their big brothers be far behind), more Lenten rose, the beginning of the daffodils. Even the goldfinch are starting to bloom. And the wild flowers are on their way beginning with the spring beauties. The joy of wild flowers everywhere, blooming wherever they please, is that old truth that they reinforce: "There is nothing more extraordinary as the ordinary."

Homesteader Update: Who's the Boss? March 30, 2013

Homesteader update: (AKA the white dish rag; nosy Rosy, CAT!!!)

My primary function in life these days is to provide a lap in the green recliner that looks out on the front of the Acres through the doorwindow. From there, she can see the bird feeder, the chipmunks scurrying around the flower pots, the Outlaw gang as they mosey by, and the peepers climbing the glass. Favorite imaginary meals? The chipmunks and the mourning doves. At least those are the ones that will get her out of my lap to charge the window, prop her front paws on the glass, strike the "ears back intimidating pose", and watch the scattering. She follows the Outlaw Gang from window to window as they pass the house. She hates it, no doubt, that they ignore her.
She makes a great alarm clock--if consistency is a measure of greatness. Every morning at 7:30 AM: plop on the bed, pointy paws up and down my back, a morning serenade, and a cold nose in the face. I assume the serenade is along the lines of "Get up lazy human. It's a new day." Ugh. Yes, she also does a great job as a snooze alarm.
Current favorite toy: that budget-busting cap from the top of a bottle of bottled water. Especially joyful to knock around on the tiles or to drop down the stairs. It seems that noise is a necessary component of fun. She also loves playing with ink pens that she knocks from my desk to the floor. Weird. If I start finding anonymous notes around the house, I'll really start to worry.
Basking in sunlight is a must for each day. (Provided there is some.) Usually in the mornings it's in front of the doorwindow and in the afternoons the bathroom floor upstairs. Wherever rays can be found.
Favorite speed: the dash.
Favorite way to distract the slave: get in his lap and place both your paws over the arm he's trying to type with on the computer. And be sure to express your disgust when he makes you move--even if it's just to his lap.
Each day is the same battle: Who's the boss? What? Of course I'm losing.

Walking Iten's Acres: The New Gang March 24, 2013

Gus, after a winter tied up, has been set free. So, on all my walks I have at least one furry friend. When his "sibling" the little hound is out, she joins us as well. They always check out the prairie rat's hole, meander down the paths in the wild area, and then ramble back up to the house with me. They know by now that I always go through the trees on my return and wait for me there. I guess I'm as predictable as they are.
Though spring is officially here, it has not done much beautifying yet. The ground in most places is still fairly hard. My planters are like concrete. Out front lots of daffodils and tulips and hyacinths have let it be known that they will be blooming as soon as the warmth catches up with the calendar. I will have to be on the alert for my friends the rabbits; they have already done some damage. Rabbit stew anyone? I'm sure the dogs will enjoy having them over for dinner. Out back, not much is coming up at all. The wild area has been pretty much flattened by the winter's weather, except for the brambles, of course--things with thorns seem to be fairly indestructible. No daffodils or hyacinth even coming up out there yet. A few crocus, though. Dabs of purple, white, lilac, and yellow scattered here and there along the edges of the paths or under the barren bushes.
I am hoping for a good snow tonight--five inches or more would be delectable. I'll sit in my old green recliner by the doorwindow and watch the world turn white. Will be lovely if it happens. I'm sure the white dish rag would join me, curled up in my lap, temporarily distracted now and then by the birds at the feeder once daylight gets here. Provided, naturally, that she's willing to share her chair with me. The goldfinch have not yet bloomed. And no sign of the rose-breasted grosbeak yet either. The male redwings are here. And the criminal cowbirds.
I wonder how the peepers will enjoy the snow?
I confess that I have enjoyed the "normal" winter. A little warmer would be acceptable now, but not real warm yet. It's a long time until Ohio becomes frost free. I don't want any "tender" plants coming up too soon. Call me over protective.
Highlights of the week. I actually saw the sun two days in a row. And one day was warm enough for me to enjoy a nice long rest in the green throne on the top of the hill. Ahhh, the joys of being king. What? Oh, I'll share sovereignty for awhile if you're in the neighborhood. But remember--bring your own throne.

Today at Iten's Acres: Signs of the Time March 10, 2013

Two days of sunshine and a little warmer weather = a couple dozen crocus, a few snowdrops, and a BLUEBIRD. Spring is coming!

Backroads of Morrow County: No Place in Particular March 7, 2013

I took a nice long excursion along the back roads today. I didn't have any particular destination in mind. In fact, No Place in Particular was the exact destination I had in mind. I find such travels therapeutic. My thoughts and my emotions needed a trip to nowhere today.
Though it is only three weeks until the official arrival of spring, there was little evidence of its coming. Some snow is still left over from the snowfall of a couple of days ago--but not much. The rows in the fields seem to collect it, and there are always those locations--shaded for the most part--that will resist any melting. The ponds are not iced over, but they do have patches still. None of the houses in the trees have even begun to go back into hiding. A few--very few--of the fields are plowed. I really don't know if anything has been planted in them yet. Nothing is certainly coming up. What kind of crop would someone plant this time of year? Winter wheat? I confess my ignorance. But the symmetry of a plowed field is lovely.
In fact, despite the winteryness of the landscape, it produces in me a sense of serenity. An "all's right with the world" feeling. There are some sheep in their pastures. Oblivious to my creeping by. One cattle "ranch" has bales of hay out for the creatures. They seem to enjoy the congregating. Cow gossip, I guess. A few hawks, still as silhouettes, sit high on the barren branches of the trees. Mourning doves are everywhere. I guess they aren't on the menu.
I did, eventually, ricochet into Mount Gilead--no, I don't think they sell balm there--and had a bite to eat at the local dive. They do specialize in comfort food. Nice country folks. Full of laughter as they discuss the stories of their lives. Yes, I eavesdrop. Suppress a smile, maybe even a laugh, though I have no idea what has them laughing. Contagious stuff that joy thing.
When I headed back to home, the sky was gray. But off on the horizon was a patch of pale yellow--dare I say, almost ivory. The sun is hidden behind the grayness, but it's glow lightens the distance, announcing that it is still around and just waiting for a break. I have to weave down 25 to avoid the plethora of pot holes. I wonder what a patrolman would think if he saw me. Too much Pepsi, I'm sure. Though it is not dark yet, my porch lights which are light sensitive (lack of light maybe) beckon me back from my meanderings. Homesteader is in the doorwindow, but she's focused on her feathered friends. It is not a "welcome home" party. I know my place in the universe according to cats. Supposedly, a couple days of warmer weather are coming soon. I hope it triggers the crocus, Lenten roses, and snowdrops to begin to show off. I'm ready for a colorful walking of the Acres.

Today at Iten's Acres: The Roar of March February 28, 2013

Sloppy. Mushy. Slushy. Take your pick. Wet. Feels as if March is going to do its "Come in like a lion" thing. I was hoping the weather would be about ten degrees colder these last few days so that we could have a nice, deep snowfall. Alas, it was not to be. Frozen tundra is keeping the water from sinking in, and a walk of the Acres was sloppy to say the least.
Three weeks until spring, at least. Officially, anyway. God has already given hints of His yearly resurrection of the beautiful. The pink heather has been blooming for three weeks. Daffodils, crocus, tulips, and even a hyacinth or two have peaked out to check the weather. Several of the Lenten Roses have budded. A white one looks as if it will bloom any day! One yellow crocus has already bloomed as well as a single aconite--a yellow flower as well. Last year at this time because of the mild winter the Acres was already awash in crocus. This year with a real winter--to some degree--it should be a couple of weeks or three until spring starts to color everything. Can't wait. I hope the spring is beautiful this year. There will, no doubt, be a tinge of sorrow in the midst of this year's beauty, but the joy will triumph. The first step will be to bring in a branch or two from the pussy willow, silverize the house, and hope they will take root so that I can plant them later on the Acres.
Roar your way in March! Spring will not be intimidated! Loveliness is around the corner!

Homesteader Update: The White Ghost February 9, 2013

The white ghost continues to increase her influence over the world of Iten's Acres. Since Mom has been spending her nights sleeping in the recliner rather than her bed, Homesteader has made two adjustments. First, since Mom appears to need a living comforter, she spends a lot of time each evening curled up in Mom's lap. Several times a night when I go in to check on Mom, she has this living white blanket stretched out on the real blankets. If Mom happens to stir, Homesteader has developed a gentle version of the head butt, I guess, letting Mom know she's still there. And that women rule, of course. (Side note: the head butt is really rather ridiculous, don't you think? Even with helmets on. Grown men do some rather stupid things at times. Too many times to be honest.) Homesteader's second adjustment is the obvious one. Since Mom is no longer using her bed, somebody has to keep it warm. She has used her mathematical skills to find the exact center of the bed for her lounging purposes. Cats and sleep are quite attracted to one another. Especially if you throw in sunlight.
She has also become a frequent denizen of the upstairs room. It's basically an attic filled with odds and ends. I couldn't even tell you what all is lying around up there. But she loves it. Lots of places to hide for sneak attacks if the old man of the house wanders by. Lots of soft places to continue her sleep studies. I'm sure the paper will be out any day now. She has also developed an utterly bizarre behavior. When I'm up there rummaging around, she'll race as fast as she can from one end of the room to the other, and then come up and demand that I pet her. Every time such an action leads to an "electric shock" on her nose. I can see her flinch knowing it's coming, but she does it over and over again. Weird, demented creature. And she's still trying to hone her now non-existent claws on everything from the door jambs to the leather furniture. Instinct? Sounds better than mentally deficient, I suppose.
I seem to remember when Brad and Ben were young tykes that there was this cartoon called something like "Binky and the Brain," "Pinky and the Brain." Something like that--where this erudite rodent was always trying to take over the world and ended up being rescued from utter disaster by his brain dead mousey counterpart. I think someone must be developing an updated version using cats instead of mice. Homesteader appears to be auditioning for both parts.

Backroads of Morrow County: Morning Drive February 3, 2013

I love an early morning drive on a snowy morning. Strangely, it began with a sound memory before I even made it to the car. When I opened the back door to leave, it creaked and the sound took me back to the cabin doors in a camp I used to attend back in my Missouri days. It was outside of Ironton, Missouri, and it was a beautiful rustic place to spend a week. Lovely memories of good times, of an old place that I can see in great detail as I walk from my backdoor in Morrow County, Ohio--decades later. Memory--being in two places at the same time. Ever have a sound memory? A gift from the God of love.
The great thing about an early snow drive is that the plows have not yet destroyed the snow on the roads. All is white. The contrast with the starkness of the trees is lovely. And yet there is color. The trees and shrubs are not one color, but browns of different shades, even tans. The tops of the weeds look like cotton swabs. Some of the snow banks--maybe it's my imagination--have a blue tinge to them. The green conifers dot the landscape. They two are different shades. It is not a deep snow--yet--and the cornstalks still stand in their rows, orderly, disciplined. They will not surrender their place in the world until the plows of spring come. And then only reluctantly.
There is wildlife. Life, anyway. The horses seem unfazed by the snow. In the place that has a few of them, they stand together, companions. They are not looking at each other, but the sense of group is obvious. One place has a single horse. Spoiled, he has a blanket against the cold. He doesn't know he's spoiled I'm sure. His herd is made up of a flotilla of barn cats. They are not fans of the snow. They congregate at the doorway looking out. Cat church? Wonder who's doing the preaching? Yellow, black, orange, calico, white, multicolored--no robed choir here. One brave soul has wandered out and climbed up on a fence post. He sits face to face with the horse. It's as if they are discussing the weather. Storybook friends, if I had the time to imagine and write a tale. A huge flock of crows glean the corn fields. Can there still be food there this far along in the winter? Must be. It's quite a group--worthy of the Hitchcock tale. They'll never catch my car.
No flock of sheep unless they blend in. No guard llama for sure. Must be secure in a barn somewhere. Softies!
I do meet a car or two going the other direction. I guess on snowy roads the wave tradition is set aside. I wave anyway. I'll see who's brave enough to look away from the slick road and take a hand off the steering wheel to stand up for country living--to be a cornstalk in a snow storm. At least, on a beautiful snowy morning, I can creep along feasting on the beauty of God's black and white landscaping without any other drivers being irritated if they come up behind me. Snowy roads may manufacture trepidation but impatience doesn't seem to be flourishing. I did "catch up" to a metal horse--a white Mustang--that was creeping along even more slowly than I. Thanks! I knew I was going too fast. "Slow down and live" should be a highway sign everywhere. Life's too beautiful to hurry through a moment. I'm building up lovely memories for the decades to come. Now that's an investment no economic crisis can take from me--or you. Anyone--everyone--can be rich.

Homesteader Update: Egomaniac January 22, 2013

The Homesteader is on her way to a full recovery. She spent a few days walking a little gingerly, but the last two days she's been back in business--in attack mode, doing her elephant runs up the stairs to see is she's still faster than the speed of light, explaining her point of view on every possible topic. She has also increased her control over--I mean deepened her relationship--with Mom. It started with sleeping at her feet, Then it progressed to sleeping on the kitchen chair near Mom. Step three was sleeping on the back of Mom's chair. And now, she just plops next to Mom right in the chair, stretches out, and let's Mom share with her. She, also, had developed a new pose. While her feet were a little sore, she would sit on her back haunches like a prairie dog on alert or a kangaroo in a boxing stance. I guess she's decided that's a cool way to sit even if your feet don't hurt. I can just see it her cat eyes: "Don't I look cute sitting like this?" Egomaniac.

Homesteader Update: Trauma January 16, 2013

A traumatic day for the Homesteader. Time to get de-clawed. I brought the pet carrier down yesterday (thanks again for its use
Dennis!) to reacquaint her with its existence. Being proverbially catlike her curiosity even led her to go inside it and lie down for a moment or two. I was sure that getting her in there to take her to the vet's this morning would be "a piece of cake," "easy as pie," "a walk in the park."
Yeah, right. Something clicked in her brain today, and she was decidedly on guard. Warily snaking her away around the furniture she was wise as an owl in avoiding the old man. Behind the sofa, under Mom's bed, behind the TV. It was a rat race trying to corral her. And I was losing the race. She was just monkeying around with me. She had me buffaloed. Then, I got a bright idea--it takes me awhile to get to bright--and I used the food trick on her. She hadn't eaten since last night--doctor's orders--so I surmised that if I put out her food, she would come running to wolf it down. Success! I put her in a big bear hug and into the lion's den she went! I guess I showed her who's the real "cat's meow" around here. It's going to be quiet as a mouse here today.

Homesteader Update: Ownership January 15, 2013

The surprise visit is history. Mom had three days with her "girls" and their husbands. (Whom she claims as her "boys." It was a good birthday celebration and general talk fest. They are now headed back to South Carolina--prayers appreciated. I think the "cold" of Ohio sent them scurrying. I couldn't convince them to stay around awhile and see the real cold. Ahhh, well. Homesteader checked them out the first day. Accepted them the second day. Owned them the third day.

Walking Iten's Acres: Beauty by Surprise January 12, 2013

The grayness of the clouds and the gaiety of the sun were in a day long battle. The wind couldn't decide whose side it was on. I am in love with both. Perhaps that is the wind's problem as well. Too much love for ever changing beauty.
The rain and the melting snow have teamed up to flood in every little--or wide--expanse that they can find. The brown shag of the river birch is no doubt delighted, and I'm sure the pussy willow by the "real" pond is dancing in the wind as well. Some of its red buds are already exploding into silver blooms. It never waits for spring. Impatience is a virtue.
The ground itself is still rock hard, frozen--dare I say, Greenbayish. Though the weather folks are predicting sixty degrees tomorrow, I don't think it will be enough to soften the soil and befuddle my bulbs and flowers into visions of spring. And the cold is coming back! I hope it brings its white blanket with it. I am always ready for a snowwalk, and I have not yet experienced this year the majesty of a moonlight sonata in the back meadow of Iten's Acres. Yes, believe it or not, I have music in my soul. And standing under stars and moon in the brightness of a snowy field makes my heart sing--even in times of absolute silence and windless stillness. I can hear His creation sing. Maybe it's my gardening angels?
One miracle. As the rains fell and the temperatures rose and the snow melted, a metallic pink buttercup spread its petals and nodded to the sunshine. Hiding all this time, warm with snow, waiting for another chance to beautify its world. And thankfully, it's my world too. Beauty by surprise is a marvelous joy. I pray I am caught off guard another million times.

Walking Iten's Acres: Snow White January 4, 2013

Snow white. The pristine beauty of the fresh snow is gone. There are footsteps everywhere. The footsteps of the COBG and other humans, the outlaw gang, the creatures of the wild--no dwarfs'. They all have a story to tell. The deer have been everywhere--even up by the house. Perhaps they are always there, hiding in the shadows, ghosts of the gray duskiness. But now the snow has given their intrusions away. I'll be watching my enemies.
The Acres are alive with bird activity. The feeder on Mom's doorwindow attracts them. A buffet. They are everywhere. Flighty. Noisy. Gorgeous. I guess the feeder makes them feel safe, wanted. It's a bird welcome mat. Even an occasional visit from a neighborhood cat is ignored. Homesteader straining to find a way through the doorwindow is mocked by their indifference to her longing. Bonnie, too, brings no change in their behavior. It's a mutual "you make no difference to me" relationship. The only thing that brings stillness and silence is a hawk visit. He is a bird feeder as well.
The flower beds are hidden under the whiteness. The pine trees still wear their white skirts. The pond is a skating rink for the dogs. The tree branches glisten in the morning frost. Twigs of tinsel, laden with captured stars from the night before. I love the beauty of a snowscape.
Rumor has it that a thaw is coming. Rain even. Thunder. I have mixed emotions. I will allow it if it promises to snow again before the cold returns. The good the thaw will bring is that if there is a streak of good weather, then my sisters will come up to surprise Mom on her 99th birthday in a couple weeks. Shhhh. Surprise. Tell no one. Yes, I will hurt you.
Can you imagine all my mom has seen since 1914 until today? Though her short term memory is all but lost, she can remember so much from her treasure store of lifetime moments. As an almost five-year-old she watched from the window of her family's flat in Wellston, Missouri, as the world celebrated the end of The Great War. She watched as wreaths went up on the doors of the homes across the way as the great flu epidemic swept the neighborhood more deadly than the war itself. Lighting the lamps. Cobblestone streets. Horse drawn buggies. Walking to market every day to buy your next meal to be prepared in the kitchen. Her dad's love-hate relationship with the family cat. So many memories time has been unable to steal or even dim. She is a living history book of the ordinary moments of life that make it so extraordinary. And now she sits in her red chair, the Homesteader contentedly sleeping on the back of the chair behind her, her life limited to the vision she has through the doorwindow looking out at the front of Iten's Acres. Yet, she is content. Satisfied with the beauty she can she. She has never met a day she couldn't love.

Walking Iten's Acres: Snow Walk December 26, 2012

Snow walk:
Preparation: Stocking cap. It says "Alcatraz" on it. I have no idea where it came from. I am not on parole, I promise. I only know that it keeps the bald head and the ears warm. Boots. Have to come back with dry feet; and snow to "stomp" off onto the floor--so The Homesteader has something to keep her curiosity exercised. And then she can do the cats' "My Feet Are Wet Dance." Gloves: have to check out the snowball making capacity of the flakes. A+ Layers: two shirts--one a flannel--and a coat. It's not a sin to brave the cold by making sure you'll be warm.
The Journey: Start in the back meadow, then through the wild area. Reverse direction. Walk through the trees, out front, around the pond, up to 25, back home. Tempted to brush off the throne and sit awhile on the hilltop. Did not yield--this time. The most important thing is to make as wide a circle as possible so that you don't have to cross your own path and spoil the pristine white blanket before you by finding some dumb human's footprints everywhere. And never turn to look behind you. Look under Aaron's pines for the deer. None today. The only other wildlife on the trek are the neighbor's kids Ella and Gage. They got a new hound dog for Christmas. And what little kid can resist playing in falling snow. Not this one for sure. "Hi, Al" called out by Ella and echoed by Gage still makes my day. The hound seems to like snow as well. Must be a distant relative of Bonnie and Gus.
Snow Plow 3 Mail Box 0 This time he got mine and Aaron's. And it was after the mail delivery. Wet mail.
The End: Stand still, close your eyes, and feel the snow on your uplifted face. Sticking out your tongue is always an option. Re-fill Mom's bird feeder. The feathered friends are much bolder on such a day as this. I don't know if the chickadees are scolding me for taking so long or cheering me on--thankful.
Epilogue: A cup--or two--of Lemon Lift hot tea as I sit and look out the windowdoors with Mom. I could sit in the stillness and watch the falling snow forever--a long time at least. Hope it continues into the nighttime, the skies clear, and the moon turns midnight to midday. Walk two will then occur. Maybe Bonnie will join me. Ahhhhh. A snowy day!

Walking Iten's Acres: Persecution December 22, 2012

Old Man Winter showed up right on cue. Blustering. Spent a night and a day moaning and howling in the tops of the trees. I love it, but he probably has a sore throat today. Produced a flurry of activity, too. Enough to cover the tundra with a bit of a warm blanket. Love walking in a snowfall. A beautiful cold. Hey, if it stays cold, maybe a white Christmas?
As I walked the Acres not much evidence of creatures out and about. Well, Bonnie's tracks in the snow--but she was still in them. My how she loves winter. If a dog can dance for joy, Bonnie is a dancer extraordinaire. Maybe snow is the canine equivalent of catnip? Anyway, no other tracks in the snow, not even in the wild area. The wild creatures are lying low--tamed by the Old Man.
Snow Plow 1 Mail Box 0. Even the brick in the box didn't help. Back to the duct tape, I reckon.
"Homesteader" is now an official appellation. I took her to the vet for some shots, and they made me fill out paperwork. "Pet's Name," right at the top. Then, "Owner's Name." I guess I know my place in the universe now. Dennis let me borrow a cage to carry her. After she tried every side and determined there was no way out, she sat down and gave herself a bath. Had to look sharp for the vet I guess. Yes, she charmed the female assistant and the female veterinarian. Gentlemen. It's a ladies' world. We have no chance. Powerless. Accept it. I'm surprised they didn't give me the shots. Oh, and she has a new perch: the back of Mom's chair. A man's home is his place to be a vassal. Sigh.
Dennis has had to put hay out for his menagerie. They love the snow. Well, at least the alpaca loves the snow. But you've got to eat. He supplements the hay with some feed of some sort. Dennis is a spoiler. One of the things that makes him a good man and a good neighbor.
I think I'm going to become Amish/Mennonite. Just for a little while. Until I can get me a couple of those cool hats. A gang of them showed up at Wendy's. Love those hats! By the way, the only reason I'm eating at fast food places is because the Grill and Chill closes down for the winter. Thus, I have to settle for tepid, old fast food instead of the hot comfort food of the G and C. I'm thinking of suing. How dare they take three months off! I wish I had had a job, before I temporarily retired, where I could have had three months off . . . Oh, I forgot. I was a teacher in my past life, eh? But still, their closing affects ME negatively. And they didn't even ask me if they could take time off. Probably down in Florida or somewhere basking in the sun. Hope they get burned. Me, bitter? Huh. How dare they leave me in the lunch--I mean lurch.
Man, a tough week on the old homestead. I am so persecuted! So, so persecuted.

Walking Iten's Acres: Hope Springs Eternal December 20, 2012

Hope Springs Eternal

     As I walk the Acres the last week before Old Man Winter takes the stage, I am immersed in an unusual feeling--hope.  Yep, hope.  A Ripley's moment, eh?  The skies are mostly gray, the ground is soaked, cold is in the air, most everything is dormant.  Where does the hope come from?
     First, the dry summer has been countered by a wetter than normal fall.  Hopefully, whatever damage the semi-drought may have inflicted has been reversed by the many rains of autumn 2012.  The pond is full to overflowing much to the pussy willow's delight.  The low areas are under water, but I prefer Cummings conclusion--"the world is puddle-luscious"--to any negative thoughts.  The rain will seep into the ground and provide impetus for next year's growth.  And my weather-proof boots keep my feet dry so that's not a problem.  (What?  Of course, I always slosh through the puddles just to make sure.)  The bog, too, is boggish again--again, a good thing in my opinion.  The plants and seeds that are lovers of moist, wet sites are settling in to "home" as they know it.  All that gives me hope for a beautiful spring.  I am also hoping for our first good snow at the end of the week, a warm blanket for the cold that's sure to come.
     Amazingly, some of last year's "hope" is still blooming.  I know, another Ripley's.  Several snapdragons are still blooming--red, yellow, orange, white.  One small patch of lilac alyssum is still blooming in a planter.  And there are a few hot pink buttercups blooming in several places.  Who knew some buttercups weren't yellow?  These colorful beauties are free to hang on for as long as they want.  Let's hope so anyway.  For you flower lovers who are jealous--my heart bleeds for you. (Ha!)
     My imagination also gives me hope.  I'm imagining what the cold, wet winter will do to revive my dormant trees and shrubs when the warmth of March adds the last growth ingredient and "life" comes back again.  I have no doubt that they will all spring into action and grow magnificently.  Some will finally reach a level of maturity that will allow them to bloom for the first time.  Some will just continue their rise toward the skies.  A wet, cold winter is essential for a lovely spring.  I, also, imagine that the bulbs are already mixing their paints so that they can colorize my world next year from March to October.  As if to stimulate my hopes and tempt me into "too soon" expectations, a few daffodils have already poked through the soil and checked out the future.  Some crocus, grape hyacinth, and Dutch iris do that every year.  But though they are expected, they do add to the hopeful feeling.
     The wild area is brown and dead.  Well, the paths have a little green.  And the brambles' branches are red.  But everything else is just dead.  So, where's the hope?  Seeds.  Many of the plants are still hanging on to theirs waiting for a few more storms to let go.  Many of them have already thrown the next generation onto the soil.  The coneflowers show signs of having provided some snacks for the sparrows of the field.  Here's hoping, as they usually do, that they play their role as winged gardeners and start a new patch of coneflowers for next summer.  I, of course, have thrown my own seeds into the area with hopes of a bountiful harvest.  And my gardening angels always having something "up their sleeves."
     I guess, it all depends on your outlook.  I could walk the Acres and think, "I'd better go reread Genesis and make sure there won't be another flood."  Or I could muse, "everything is dead and dormant; there is no hope."  But my experience tells me that none of that negativity is true.  "Hope springs eternal"--it really does.  Perhaps the skies help.  Even on the cloudiest, gray days there is usually a break in the cover and behold! a patch of blue emerges, and the sun's invisible yellow rays prance around the Acres.  No matter how thick the clouds, the sky and the sun are just waiting above them, knowing their chance will come when they can break through the darkness and bring the warmth that will bring renewal to the plants of Iten's Acres.  Sooner than you think--or imagine--or hope.  Guaranteed.  Fulfilled hope is the reward of patience, you know.  And at those moments of brightness, I always reflect on Vincent van Gogh.  To him, blue symbolized the mysterious and the infinite.  Yellow, his favorite color, symbolized the presence of sacred love.  God's blues and yellows are always there, always active, just waiting for the best moment.  Yes.  Behind the gray, He is always there, and He loves to remind us of His presence.  He is the God of hope.
     I wish Vincent or one of his proteges could stop by next year and paint some of my daffodils.  The yellow ones--on a background of blue skies.  I can hope, can't I?

Backroads of Morrow County: Doctored December 18, 2012

I think the servers at Wendy's must have slipped a little something into my drink at lunch today. They seem so kind and helpful, but I'm beginning to wonder. I mean, what can you expect from employees at a place that only serves Coke products. Why do I think they "doctored" my drink? On the way home I went by a gas station and the first number looked like a two. Yeh, right. $2.92 it seemed to say. And even worse, I imagined that that was cheap. I will be keeping an eye on those "sweet" little Wendy servers, you can be sure.

Backroads of Morrow County: Night Drive December 2, 2012

The back roads are misty tonight. Foggy. Dark. The lights of the houses are like stars, distant and near, punctuating the haze. I often wonder what life is like in those unknown "worlds." There. Is that a place of happiness filled with laughing children? There. Is that a world filled with fear and disappointment? Is there, behind one of those windows, a lonely widow hoping for a visit or at least a call? Who's to know? Just lights in the darkness, windows to look out at the misty, foggy night--not to look in.
This time of year several of the homes are decorated for Christmas. Many are simple--single candles in the windows, a single strand of white lights around the door posts. But as you know, to this traveler "simplicity carried to extremes is elegance." A couple have nativity scenes--bright portraits of a silent night from long ago. A witness in the darkness. I find myself singing as I slow down--who needs an angel chorus: "Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light; the hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight." Some of the homes have a rainbow of color on their eaves and wrapped around their trees. One home near me has eight or so pine trees draped in all the colors. In the darkness it, too, radiates beauty. Interestingly, on all the back roads I traversed tonight, there was no Santa Claus anywhere, on any lawn. One home had two small deer constructed of white lights but it seemed to be a hymn to the nature all around us out here in the country--no suggestion of a Santa or his sleigh. Quite lovely in the mist and rain and darkness.
Usually on my night explorations I see the creatures of the woods. Possum scuttling off to some place somewhere so they can practice being dead. Racoons off to cause some damage, raid a neighbor's pond, add some excitement to the lives of country dogs. Deer loping to the next day's hiding place. Even barn cats off to hunt the fields. I guess field mice taste better than barn mice. None of those beasts were out tonight. Or, perhaps, they, too, enjoy being in the darkness looking at the lights of the human "planets" dotting the hills and meadows of Morrow County.
As I turned into my driveway, I turned off the car lights and sat awhile. Here on the Acres, stillness everywhere. A deep darkness with all the stars hidden in the mist and fog. I creep at impulse speed through the space of home. Even in the darkness the giant pine tree, the leafless ancient maple, and the old Sentinel are silhouettes of a quiet strength. I do not have "miles to go before I sleep." I can see the light in the window of my planet. In there, I know love reigns. And I will park the little red space ship, creep through the dark mist, find the backfront door, and be at peace. The child born in a manger lives here all year round. I will always find rest here. No matter how dark the night.

Walking Iten's Acres: Serenity December 1, 2012

Serenity

Walking the Acres at the onset of December there is a sense of serenity about the place.  All is at rest.  The Sentinel still stands unaffected by any season.  Every year at least one huge limb comes crashing down so its gnarlyness is slowly decreasing.  But it is still impressive and fearless in its slow decline to the way of the world.  The bees at the top are silent and retired for the year.  I'm sure if I could fly to the top of the tree, I could hear a low hum resonating in the tree, but being wingless, I can only imagine.  I can, I suppose, hum and sing as I walk.  Actually, as a crazy old man, I do that anyway; I'll just pretend I'm talking to the bees.  They won't hear me, so I won't face any musical harmonic criticism from the experts.
I love to sit on the bench by the pond this time of year.  The rains of autumn have refilled the pond.  The muskrat has moved back in for the winter.  Maybe it's a mink.  I really don't know.  The only evidence is the hole it has dug near the flower garden by the pond.  (Last year, that produced a tragedy as the outlaws in an attempt to catch the creature dug up the garden.  I hope that doesn't happen again this year.  It would not add to the serenity.)  There are slivers of ice on the surface of the pond some mornings as winter sends notice that it is on the way.  Some mornings there is a mist rising from the water reminiscent of the old tarns mentioned in an old Poe story or two. (Think "The Fall of the House of Usher.")    But it is not a haunting feeling here at the Acres.  Only peace and serenity are allowed under the watchful eye of the Sentinel.
The only obvious activity this time of year is near the house.  Those pesky squirrels are up early gathering walnuts and hickory nuts--and probably a tulip bud or two.  They run for the thickets when I come near.  They have learned that there is no safety in the branches of the trees.  I'll bet that if I could walk through the thickets in spring, I would find a transplanted tulip or two gracing the wildness.  I can live with that imagining.  A small kudos to the varmints.  The other busy-bodies by the house are the birds at Mom's window feeder.  Coming and going, coming and going are the chickadees, titmice, woodpeckers, and nuthatches.  The goldfinch, Cardinals, siskins, and purple finches sit and munch.  The field sparrows, song sparrows, chipping sparrows, and snowbirds scour the patio for "crumbs."  There must be some.  They keep coming back.  On colder days when I'm sure the chipmunks are staying in, I'll even throw a little on the ground for the scourers.  Mom enjoys watching them, but her memory is such that she has at times forgotten their names.  She used to know them all by heart, but sometimes as we grow older, I guess the mind trumps the heart.  Not that I mind reminding her of who the visitors are.  Repeating the words "chickadee," "nuthatch," "snowbird," is not a tedious exercise in the least.  Musical words if you say them right.  Hum them if you can! The Homesteader, by the way, enjoys spending the mornings with Mom, basking in the sun, tail moving back and forth imagining how much fun it would be to get back outside and chase the winged company.  (For those who just know me here on the blog, the Homesteader is now a permanent member of the household.  I should change her name to "Boss."  Yes, I am a soft touch.)  The activity of the birds, believe it or not, adds to the serenity of the place.  Movement can be beautiful--a dance of the birds is such a beauty.
As I walk through the stand of trees and then through the back meadow and wild area, all is quiet.  The only raucous color is green.  The wind is still there.  On the windiest days the neighbor's pines hum.  Otherwise all is silent, serene.  There are plenty of signs of deer, but I have not seen them.  I imagine they are checking me out from the safety of the brush or the pine forest.  Camouflaged, they feel secure hiding in plane sight.  With no leaves I can see through everything; and yet, no doubt, miss many things.  I do not mind.  Often, I just sit on the green throne, bask in the grey skies, imbibe the quietness, embrace the breeze, find serenity in the pastoral splendor of my neighbor's goats and alpaca grazing serenely next door.
Yes, the Acres are at rest.  And I enjoy participating in the wonder.   

Walking Iten's Acres: A Brown and Green World November 23, 2012

It is a brown and green world as I eagerly anticipate the first white storm. Green must be one of His favorite colors since He keeps even the winter decked out in its hue. And the greens come in all different shades and shapes. There's the huge red coned ancient one at the front of the property, white pines between my land and Aaron's house and up around my house, a "lacy" variety along the line between Dennis and I, several beauties around the pond. The only ones I have contributed are the tiny blue spruce out in the meadow behind the house. None of them are very tall yet despite seven years of inhabiting the acres. The largest ones are in the deepest brush where the competition is stiff. Even in trees, adversity produces strength. If I live another twenty years or so, they will all be glorious. Well, even if I don't, they will be glorious; I just won't be there to admire them and ruminate on how brilliant I was to plant them more than two decades ago. The largest group of pines is on the back of Aaron's property: deer hideaways, wind harps, shade producers in every season. Dennis has some beauties, too, on his acres. He should have been a professional landscaper.
And I don't mind the brown. Precursor to next spring's showtime. The "browns" lie dormant, waiting to resume their growth and flowering. Rest is good. Rest is necessary--essential. I'm sure the daffodils have been spending the summer and fall creeping in every direction and no doubt conspiring: "Wait until the chubby old bald guy sees all the blooms we're going to send up next spring. He thinks last year was marvelous. Huh." And some hidden things have been rediscovered now that the leaves have fallen. A few Lenten roses had been hiding in the trees and along the tree line. The same for a small mountain laurel and a rhododendron. Hope renewed. "Ahhh, they are still alive. One day I will see them bloom, Lord willing." The Lenten roses in particular fear no shade and bloom earlier than all the rest before the canopy can block out the sunlight. Lovely bloomers they are too. Today, they are greens among the brown--to be followed by glorious hues in the latest winter (would you believe, February?--if not, come by and see). The proof is in the breathtaking.
There is some sadness in my walking the last few days. Blaze, one of Dennis' alpaca's passed away. Brown and white, curious and friendly (he always came up to the fence to see what the silly human was up to), a lover of winter's storms. Snow and cold and wind were his favorite things. Indomitable. Frolicking even on the coldest winter days. He will be missed. His life was full. Dennis took the best of care of him. But still he will be missed.
And finally, this time of year my hermiting takes a blow. The subterfuge of the mangled mailbox and the driveway that looks like a cow path cannot hide my presence this time of year. The house and my little red wagon are easily seen from the road with no camouflage to make them invisible to the passer-by. Ahhh, well. Winter will have its loveliness. Spring will be here sooner than even my hopeful expectations for the beauty of next year can imagine.
The world is green and brown. But the earth is just at rest waiting to explode into all the colors of the rainbow--and then some. All it lacks for now is a nice white blanket to keep it cozy and warm.

Homesteader Update: Once Upon a Time November 20, 2012

Once upon a time I had this comfortable blue leather chair I could sit in whenever I felt like it. I didn't have to worry about finding it already taken.
Once upon a time I was able to sit in that chair and leisurely read or journal without any interruption at all.
Once upon a time I could cook in the kitchen without worrying about where I was putting my feet or listening to constant comments about my cooking.
Once upon a time I was able to sleep at night without a cold nose in my face at 3 AM.
Once upon a time I could tie my shoes in the morning without engaging in a wrestling match.
Once upon a time I could go months without once having to say the word, "no."
Once upon a time all my toilets could be flushed.

Once upon a time . . .

Homesteader Update: Keeping My Place November 14, 2012

The Homesteader has decided to let us live with her in her new home. She cleverly made friends with Mom thus assuring my inability to control the situation. In fact, once Mom goes to sleep at night, Mom's chair becomes her place to sleep. And she spends most mornings with her in her room. Loves the sunlight, watching the bird feeder, carousing among the indoor plants, connecting with the Hospice folks. I have become powerless. And as always she is more than happy to let me know her opinions on everything. Regardless of the time of day--or night. My new standing in the house: lap provider, can opener, patient listener, and general unpaid lackey. Once upon a time many, many years ago I was the lord of the Acres. Then, I slid into second place behind the Matriarch. Now, I'm third. And it's not even a close third. Merely, a tolerated third as long as I "keep my place" without complaining. I'm lucky she's not on facebook.

Backroads of Morrow County: A Hopeless Romantic November 10, 2012

I took the back roads home from lunch yesterday. Have to go by the Highway Patrol station. Why is it I always feel uneasy (okay, guilty) when I see a patrol car--even when it's sitting empty in the parking lot. I mean I was doing all of 15 mph. And I think they like having their station on a gravel road so they can look cool peeling out when they get an emergency call.
The gravel is pretty much gone by this time of the year. The roads are just a hard pan decorated with pot holes. I have no idea where all the gravel goes. I drive slowly, but then I always drive slowly on my treks through the back roads. Slow. Slower. Slowest. It's the only way to go. Even complete stop works best at times.
The landscape seems to have expanded. With the leaves gone I can see deep into the hideaways of the thickets and stands of trees along the way. Places of mystery in summer, hiding places for the deer, they are now porous and open. And with the beans and corn harvested, the contours of the fields are visible and picturesque. With no corn to hide the view, it seems as if you can see for miles--miles you didn't know were there before. Open. I like the sensation. And "new" homes have suddenly appeared--privacy blown away by the autumn winds.
The wild flowers are, of course, long gone. In hiding until next year. And there are no barn swallows on the wires. Even the mourning doves have gone off to who knows where (one of my favorite places) even though I know they spend the winter in Ohio. And no buzzards soaring through the gray blue skies. Glorious from a distance; somewhat grotesque up close. I guess the road kill is tastier farther south this time of year. There was some activity. I actually passed a van. "Hi"--even though they can't hear me. The obligatory wave. Backroad tradition, remember. And one farmer was still finishing reaping his corn. His reaper must have been a little angry to be one of the last to have to work before winter's rest. Had "spit" some shucked ears out on to the road. The crows and Canadian geese are serving as gleaners. Too bad they don't have a love-sick Boaz to tell the reapers to leave a little extra for the gorgeous gleaner coming up behind. Not that either of them would fall into the "gorgeous" category. I can relate.
The only drawback to traveling gravelless gravel roads is that you can see the floor of the one lane wooden bridges over the creeks. A great test for your faith. They look a little splintered and worn this time of year. And that's another frustration, now that I think of it. There are several back roads that have barriers in front of them with the ominous warning "bridge out" so and so many miles down the way. As a dedicated explorer of back roads, it's difficult to handle such privations. When, pray tell, am I going to get to slowly explore those roads? I mean, come on Morrow County ODOT, it's been a couple years for some of them. Torture. Don't they know that "curiosity killed the cat owner"? Guess I need to run for county commissioner. On a platform of "bring bridges back to Morrow County." At least I'd find out who the other hopeless romantics are.

Walking Iten's Acres: Final Colors November 4, 2012

It's that time of year when one questions the existence of the sun. Gray, cool, breezy. An occasional "peek" of blue eyes among the clouds. I still enjoy my walks, of course. Most of the trees are bare, but not all. The sycamore with its monster leaves is holding out--or is it holding on? The oaks, of course, will hold on until spring. It will take the new leaves of 2013 to push away the old leaves of 2012. Resistant to change, I reckon. The dogwood is completing its beauty cycle. Gorgeous white blossoms in the spring. Lovely red leaves in the autumn. Red berries coated in snow cannot be far behind. The redbuds should take a hint. Lovely in the spring. They have the autumn blahs. The green of the pines stands out more on the walks. And they love to moan in the winds. And, wow!, will they look great in their white coats!
Bonnie joined me today. I'd like to have her coat. Not only is her black and white coat luscious, but I imagine it's a lot warmer than my fleece jacket. She's a beauty. I've already retired my baseball hat for a stocking one. Got to keep those old ears covered. I even wear some gloves just to keep Arthur a little at bay. Boots with a fur lining have also been employed. I guess I'm getting old, eh? Though, again--like last year at this time--I got up an hour early today and didn't feel tired at all.
There will be work to do this fall and winter. I think about the different chores--they actually don't feel very "chorey" to me--as I slowly walk the Acres. Yep, this time of year I just think about them. "Work" will come another day. (Maybe.) Oh, the flowers in the planters near the house are still blooming--even the impatiens. Jealousy is allowed. Maybe even forgiven. Maybe.

Homesteader Update: Being Homely October 31, 2012

The Homesteader has adjusted quite well to being homely. This was her third full day, and she seems quite at ease. She spends the morning with Mom, usually sleeping on her feet; sometimes on the rug next to her chair. She greets the Hospice folks as if they're old friends--no fear at all. Loves to climb in your lap and sleep; well, cat nap. Last night she found the light at the top of the stairs that is activated by a motion censor. She had a blast turning it off and on for a few minutes until the grouchy old home owner went up and turned it off. Today she did a thorough examination of the upstairs. Best of all, she's been using the litter box from the very beginning. What? Yes, she is still full of advice on everything. Everything.

Homesteader Update: ING October 29, 2012

Inside; exploring; hiding, complaining, eating, purring, fascinated by the strings on the mop; demanding attention.

Homesteader Update: Failure October 28, 2012

As the weather has slipped toward winter, the soft side of my nature has begun to affect my judgment. (I know; who knew I had such a side?) Anyway, I've been trying to coax The Homesteader to "move" inside. Actually, I thought it would be a no brainer. Who wants to live in an old shed out in the weather? So I picked her up and brought her in the backfront door. Whoosh. Before I could turn to close the door, she was gone--back to the shed. I guess we know now who doesn't have the brain. My next strategy was to just hold the door open and let her initiate changing worlds. She stuck her nose in the door, surveyed the layout--ran back to the shed. Having a stubborn streak in my soft side, I tried another strategy: the food temptation. She came in, ate her fill, (I hope she's been washing her paws; she stands with her front paws in the middle of the bowl while she eats.) I petted her. That was acceptable. Purring even. I slowly closed the door. Ninja cat! She began jumping against the door trying to get out. Sigh. I opened the door and let her return to her domain: rain, wind, chill, an old wooden shed. I guess it's my head that's soft, not my heart. Wildness must be in her blood. What? Of course, I'll keep trying! Maybe a good snowstorm will change her mind? (By the way, I'm glad I don't speak cat'nese. She expressed her opinion several times, and I doubt if they were terms of love.)