Posse Update November 18, 2016

Posse Update:

Midnight--dark as a moonless night. Going to be panther-size. A friendly, affectionate fellow. Homebody. Greets me whenever I come home at night. Ever been attacked by a shadow? Fills me in on his day. Walks to the real back door with me. Likes to sit in the chair on the patio. Make a great pet if someone's interested. Hint. Hint.

Psycho--A tiger that has no concept of the word "still." Runs in circles when I feed them. Appears to spend the day exploring. Loves the pond area, the trees, even the shed out back. His mouth is as active as the rest of him. Little tyke compared to Midnight. Feisty might sum him up best. (Though Psycho works.)

Little Momma Gorgeous calico. Has been showing up most mornings at breakfast time. I wonder where she keeps her clock? Not ever in panic mode, but always in leery mode. Won't come to breakfast until I'm back in the house.

All seem to be healthy. Wildness in their blood, though Midnight--as mentioned--has decided to be friendly--a long as he initiates it. Wonder how winter will impact them? It will be the first for Midnight and Psycho. Maybe having found the shed will help?

Strangeness--they love peanuts. Whenever I throw out the bird food, they gulp down the peanuts. Hey, it's not my fault. Homesteader did the same thing. She, of course, loves sitting in the doorwindow--no, loves luxuriating in the doorwindow--flaunting her indoor status. Queen of the Cave has now become Queen of the Universe. Don't believe me? Just ask her.

The Posse is fine for those of you who worry. No outlaws dare roam The Acres. Nothing living dare try to run the cave.

Walking Iten's Acres: The Last Picture Show November 13, 2016

The hard frost has come--this year's blooms have met their match. Here is the last flower show of 2016: all of these were in bloom--annuals and perennials as I wandered The Acres this first week of November: Enjoy the last picture show--for this year.

Walking Iten's Acres: Lessons November 4, 2016

Lessons from The Acres:

When as I walk The Acres after an early March snowfall, and encounter the purple, yellow, lilac, and gold of the first spring crocus, I am reminded that hidden under all the cold spells of life, God's beauty is waiting for just the right moment to cheer the soul.

As I sit on the patio among the containers of perennials, I am reminded of the joy of memories--Mom, in her floppy pink hat, delighted with the country breeze, the beauty all around her, sitting in the same chair, enriched--and thankful--for every moment of life her Father gave her. I am a rich man--a millionaire of memories.

Often, coming home late at night, as I slip out of the little red wagon, I find myself under a ceiling of stars on a pitch-black canvas. The God who created such a universe is the omnipotent God of promises. He who has named them all, calls me by name--as His child, forever. He is my Father who is in heaven.

When I see the sparrows feasting on this morning's bird food, and when I walk among the lilies, lovely as they are, I rest in the truth that He loves me so much more than these. "His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me." And He lives within this old clay pot that the loveliness of His presence might be seen in me. In me! Amazing love.

From spring to first frost, I walk The Acres in the bright sunshine of the meadow, in the dense lushness of the wild area, in the dappled shade around the pond and under The Ancient maple, in the deep shade of the line of trees, in the dryness of the hillside, in the miry bog, and everywhere I encounter His beauty. There is nowhere I can walk, nowhere, and not find evidence that His hand has been--and is--at work there. Everywhere I walk . . .He is.

As I sit in the chair in front of the doorwindow and watch the snows of winter cover the bareness of the branches with the flakes of pearl, I remember that in the winters of my life, He has always made His presence known--and He has given me the pearl of great price that no storm of winter can ever take away. And as I have said before, every winter has been followed by a spring. "He restores my soul."

And as I walk The Acres and am suddenly surprised by a flower that I was not expecting--the work of my Gardening Angels--I cannot help but smile, whisper another "Thank You," and anticipate with great joy, the surprises of His love that await me just around the corner.

I suppose, it's actually not the lessons of The Acres, but the lesson of The Acres. "In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." Thank You, Savior--that day-by-day-by day, You speak into our lives and remind us of Your presence--the presence of Your loyal love.

This Week at Iten's Acres: Mysteries November 1, 2016

The Mysteries of The Acres:
The gold fish are back. Not that they ever leave; they just disappear all summer. Where do they all go? When they suddenly reappear on the surface--tons of them. And how do they know that the "predators" have all gone south by now? Do they have an insides connection with someone at the Audubon Society?
So many re-blooming iris this year! (Not that I'm complaining). The white/rose-tinted one bloomed off and on for a month or so. I've had at least eight yellow dwarf that have been blooming and blooming. They won't quit. And I have two more iris that have just budded. If there's not a hard frost for a couple of weeks--they will bloom as well. If it stays warmish, will more join the parade? I've never had so many.
And the last mystery? Will my FA Syndrome come true? They are predicting a cold, snowy winter. Ah, life at The Acres. Better start working on my snow shovel muscles. I think I have one or two? And The Posse had best start scouting out places to hunker down. There's only two left--six inches of snow will bury them. Midnight should be easy to spot--a black puff of fur under a drift. Little Tiger--I don't know. Maybe they'll be smart enough to hide out in one of the sheds. If Homesteader ever got out in the snow, she'd be invisible just in flurries. Well, maybe her one blue eye would stand out.
Mysteries. Mysteries. Mysteries. Everybody loves a mystery. Or two. Or three. Or . . .