Sky Gazing

Why is the sky a subject of study only when I'm at leisure? 

If I'm kicked back in my Kentucky beach chair with nothing to do, 

 I'll tilt my face upward  

and check out whatever artwork God left way up there. 

When I'm not at leisure, I'll scan the sky for rain or storms--snow? 

A jet streaks across the horizon, and I wonder 

what the passengers will enjoy upon arrival. 

Hawks wheel above, and their grating call draws my eye 

upward, but only for a moment.

It seems my time viewing the sky decreases 

even as stress levels increase.

Does it seem that way to you, too?

If I'm zipping to the grocery, the nursing facility, or to school, 

I don't stop and take time to sky gaze. 

But I know I should. 

Taking time to look up inoculates the nonsense with

 a necessary dose of perspective. 

I might log a two-thousand-word day, 

prepare a kidlit lesson, and work 

my way through a mountain of laundry--

but I need to pause every now and then to

 look up and remember these truths. 

 

Simple Summer Icebox Pie

 I'm no culinary diva, especially in the summer. 

I'm happy with grilled meat and corn on the cob every night.

Simple is my favorite adjective for hot-weather food. 

And that's the best description for this summer pie. Grandma might've 

called it "icebox pie," since it sets up in the freezer. Typical icebox pies are 

high-calorie and loaded with fat, things I'm not absolutely opposed to, 

but if I can easily dodge those, I (probably) will. 

This casual concoction features Greek yogurt in place of cream cheese 

or sweetened condensed milk. Topped with whatever fruit you find 

in your garden or at the farmer's market, it's a win for sure. 

The variations are nearly endless and simply delicious.

Simple Summertime Icebox Pie

1. Make(or buy)a graham cracker or cookie crust. 

2. Gently combine and spoon into crust: 

one large container of vanilla Greek yogurt

one regular-sized container of whipped topping

3. Prepare fruit and layer on top of yogurt cream filling.

4. Chill in your freezer for about two hours. Allow to thaw for a few minutes before serving. 

The opportunities for upgrades are endless here ... think chips, drizzles, and mix-ins. 

Spring Changes Everything

 Spring sunshine arrived just in time. 

I'm sure you can identify. 

It's turning ordinary things 

into magical objects of beauty. 

 Our midcentury Orlyt greenhouse is 

getting a long-deserved renovation. 

More room for beauty, fewer piles of nonsense.

Repurposing old objects for a new life is 

exactly the sort of puzzle I savor to solve. 

Hello and Goodbye

Well, hello, Spring! 
I thought I saw you skulking around the edges of our Kentucky acre—

awkward with un-belonging and unsure of your welcome. 

You're not to blame. 

Winter took too long in its departure, seeming to leave then rushing back 

for some forgotten object. Some seasons don't know when it's just time to go. 

And Spring, I'm sorry you've already been bullied away by Summer 

who shoved its way in, smelling of firepits, cut grass, and sunscreen.

Maybe next year you'll arrive earlier and stay a little longer. 

 

Premium Property

Yesterday, we woke up to a winter-wonder landscape. 

My sidekick and I went out for a look around and some photos. 

We found this cozy bird bungalow still vacant, 

but what a view! 

A tiny home among snow-capped dogwood blossoms is 

premium property for sure. 

Maybe when spring sets in for good, bird tenants will come as well. 

I'm hoping for bluebirds. 

Here's a collection of favorite bird books to share with the littles in your life. 

****

These days, I'm pondering this verse: 

"Your own ears will hear him. 

Right behind you a voice will say, “This is the way you should go,” 

whether to the right or to the left."

Isaiah 30:21 NLT

Suddenly, Spring

February blurred past mostly like this—

Now we've arrived in March, and our one Kentucky acre 

has bounded ahead to this—

(grape hyacinth)

(lenten rose)

(daffodils)

When the weather turns again and temperatures dip ...

they just will ...

Well, that's gonna leave a mark. 

But today, we'll eat our meals outside, walk the gardens, 

and make plans for the months ahead. 

And we'll hope against hope they don't include any more of this—

What Kind of Fruit?

The fruit trees are blooming on our rural one acre.

Blushing peach tree blooms, alabaster plum tree flowers, and still-tight apple buds. 

It doesn't matter how desperate the news, 

spring in Kentucky is settling in and getting comfy.

 My Youngest planted these trees a few years ago. 

They're barely tended, receiving only a hard pruning now and then. 

 No fertilizer. 

No pest control measures. 

No staking or mulching.

And yet ... they bear fruit anyway. 

But not the sort of fruit anyone looks forward to enjoying. 

Tiny and shriveled, what survives the late-season frosts 

bears the gnawing of every critter that passes through our backyard retreat.

With the rest of the world, I'm examining the fruit my life is bearing.

In impossible-to-imagine pandemic days, will I yield fruit gnawed by fear and anxiety, 

frost-bitten with affliction, neglect-shriveled knobs?

I pray not. 

Will you, with me, work alongside the Master Gardener to 

stake what's leaning and allow the pruning of what's useless?

 Are we willing to stand guard against enemies of anxiety and 

despair, and instead, pour on the fertilizing energies of gratitude and generosity?

I pray so.

Together, we can bear fruit that will bring delight instead of disappointment. 

Read more about spiritual fruit here. 

Explore a fascinating innovation in fruit trees here.

Bare Bushes

It's time to call it quits in the garden. 

Here on my one Kentucky acre, we've had drought conditions until just 

about two weeks ago. My container plants got just too shabby 

in the dry heat...so I fixed them. 

"Look at this," I said to my patient husband. "I fixed the container plants."

"You sure did," he agreed and took a few steps back.

Because, friends, I pulled them all up and threw their spindly stems

and crispy blooms in the firepit. What a relief! 

I plopped gourds and pumpkins in the empty containers—no watering needed. 

When we finally got a little rain, all the garden plants went back to work, 

creating new leaves and blooms. 

Look at this cypress vine, so cheerful in the summer-like heat.

Then this week on Monday, fall arrived. 

We've had a one-week color change with all the wonder of a true fall compressed 

into just a few days. Yesterday's wind and rain moved the color party to the ground.

Last night we swerved around another seasonal corner as temperatures dropped below freezing. 

I had time to save these beautiful blues, and a few zinnias, 

from the first killing frost.

The bushes are bare, but my windowsills are filled with vases of color. 

Great Gourds

At my favorite Indiana farm market, I found a vendor who grows
and oh-so-casually sells the most mind-boggling variety of pumpkins and gourds.
She loads them in the back of a truck before dawn, crosses the miles with
a thermos of dark coffee, and dumps them on the market ground in glorious piles of color.

"How much for a blue pumpkin?" I tried to appear equally casual.
"Two dollars," she said with a flannel-shirted shrug.
Yes, ma'am! 
I couldn't get my dollars unfolded fast enough.

The small gourds in these photos came from an ordinary grocery store.
Yet the craftsmanship in every detail is nothing less than amazing. 

Will you take time to pause as we hurtle into the fall season, for just a few 

moments, and let the wonder of the changing natural world inspire something new?

Here Comes a Duck

She waddled up our seen-better-days driveway, 

 chatting to herself the way ducks do, and stood in a puddle, commanding our attention.

She got that and much more. 

All summer, we carried around bits of bread and cracker crumbs 

and became her best option for some decent take out.

In exchange, she followed us around the acre like a family dog providing a 

soothing backdrop of duck talk. 

I often wondered exactly what 

she was saying, but never could get close enough to make out 

any real words. It might have been a complaint about the 

 bread quality or the boring variety of crackers, because she 

disappeared after a few visits—on to better menus, I'm sure.

Exactly what your granny used to say, right? 

"Just when you think you know what to expect, 

here comes a duck."

Toadstool Surprise

Someday when you're out walking your combo dog* on a crisp fall day,

you might see one of these ordinary brown toadstools.

It happened to me. 

When I stooped to see a bit better, tiny light-sparkles bounced from micro-thin

spider strands stretched across the cap.  

What a clever decoration!

From bended knees, I peeked farther under the cap to see sunshine-lit gills.

This often despised-sprout looked more and more like a welcoming shelter.

And from a ground-level view (belly)—what an impressive structure! 

The perfect place for tiny folk to relax on a sunny fall afternoon. 

At least it was ... until my combo dog rushed back to see what was so interesting. 

Turns out toadstools are delicate, not dog-proof at all. 

Back to walking. 

* What's a combo dog?

That's what you get when you adopt a puppy from the local animal rescue people. 

They tell you it's a Labrador retriever, but it turns out to be a

beagle-y, Australian shepherd-ish, terrier-type of mutt. 

A cute, smart, adorable one.

Hosting Bluebirds

"The bluebird carries the sky on his back." -  Henry David Thoreau

We hosted a family of bluebirds this spring in an 

ancient box on the backyard fence. I was so excited at the 

first sight of them checking out the area.

"I have had more than half a century of such happiness. A great deal of worry and sorrow, too, 
but never a worry or a sorrow that was not offset by a purple iris, a lark, a bluebird, 
or a dewy morning glory."  
- Mary McLeod Bethune

Watching the parents continually tending their twins was 

an every-night distraction. 

"What do you want to do tonight?"

"Hmmm ... should we check on the bluebirds?"

"Yes!"

"The bluebird enjoys the pre-eminence of being the first bit of color that cheers our northern landscape. 
The other birds that arrive about the same time--the sparrow, the robin, the phoebe-bird--are clad in neutral tints, gray, brown, or russet; but the bluebird brings one of the primary hues and the divinest of them all."  
- John Burroughs

Now the box is empty and we never see their beautiful blue 

on our small Kentucky acre. But we hope they'll return next year. 

We added another box in case they bring friends.

These cards, featuring the eastern bluebird, are tiny, signed lithographs 
which used to be found inside boxes of Arm & Hammer Baking Soda. 
In 1938, these beautifully detailed treasures were collected by bird lovers ... and quickly discarded 
by those who just wanted to "clean enamel surfaces," "boil rat traps," or "put out a fire." * 
This collection is for sale in my Etsy vintage shop. Take a look at more photos here.

* These suggestions, and others, on the back of every card.

November Light

Are you noticing the difference in the light over the last couple of weeks?

There's been a definite shift.

Weak winter sunbeams give way to frigid blasts.  

Spring sunshine hints and winks.

Summer rays brutalize.

But November light ...

You know how airy and bright a room looks when you take the curtains and blinds down for washing?

 I think it's like that.

November sunshine brings new clarity—sharp edges and crisp patterns.

 I wonder ... 

have you noticed the difference?

James 1:17

Umbrella Lights

Umbrella lights that blink on just as the sky turns dusky-dark blue 

- dreamy!

I wonder what the fireflies think about 

this new backyard feature ...

Everyday Celebrations

I know some of you would be horrified at the carbon "footprint" my household 

stomps into the earth. Especially during large family gatherings.

When we host the entire tribe of extended family, I break out the paper 

plates, plastic forks and styrofoam cups. 

(sigh) I'm not proud of it, but there it is. I'd like to list all my excuses, but I'll spare you.

But look what I scored at a recent yard sale:

Vintage "pressed glass" goblets in all colors of the rainbow!

The home owner was selling the contents of her mother-in-law's

 home to pay for her stay in an assisted living facility.
"We have to pay a little extra, doncha know, because Mama needs her hair done every Friday."

Her mother-in-law is 103 years old.

My husband and I admired the collection, but drove away, only to return an hour later to 

scoop up what was left. We purchased nineteen goblets and contributed a 

little extra for Mamma's hair needs.

It seemed appropriate to store them in our Hoosier cabinet. 

When I open the doors, it just looks like a party in there. 

I've resolved to use these every time we host a family gathering. My younger self 

would have kept these only for good, only for the very best occasions. 

But now that I'm (ahem) older, wisdom urges me forward with the earned understanding

that every gathering qualifies as the very best occasion, and

every single family dinner is an occasion to celebrate with 

fancy, rainbow-colored, antique goblets.

It's Happening Again

Spring plants stretch from damp dirt and toss their heads in the breeze.

 Weak rays of sunshine penetrate nearly-transparent peony leaves. *

Red-winged blackbirds are first to announce—SPRING IS HERE! 

Side Note -
My neighbor, an elderly spinster lady, passed away last year. In the late fall, her brother invited me to take her peonies plants.

"She set such store by those, but we don't care about 'em." 

I just nodded, but, oh, I felt the horror my neighbor would have experienced at the lowly description of her prized "pie-knees". So, shovel and containers in hand, my Wonderful Husband and I began a search-and-rescue mission. It's not easy to find dried-up peony branches under a carpet of fall leaves and pine needles. We brought three clumps back to our yard, and I broke those into even more parts. I thought it might be too late to set these in the ground and have any chance of seeing them in the spring, but in her honor, I tagged each clump of tubers with her name.
And they're coming up! I know she'd be pleased.

Ladder to Nowhere

As I drive along, I notice unusual things in yards. 

The men in my life do not appreciate this—they say I'm swerving, but of course, I'm not. 

If you happen to be gawking along with me, you know there's lots to see.

For example, not far from here, an entire (plastic) holy family huddles on the front porch of a small white cottage. I'm sure someone intended to put them back in the shed until next year, but they just haven't gotten around to it. 

In another yard, there's a life-size bear figure, standing tall and menacing. The owners may think it's hidden behind that pampas grass, but people with excellent observation skills will notice these things. They also have a fake white pony, frozen mid-trot, not far from the bear—is there a story in the mind of the yard decorator?

Perhaps my favorite oddity is in the yard of a pink Cape Cod home, set high on a hill. A yeti statue strides through the side yard, perhaps on its way to the next meeting of the RUFO Society. 

And what about this ladder? 

It's propped against a tree with no apparent purpose at all.

I may have an overactive imagination, as some say, but doesn't this spark your

sense of wonder? A room full of first graders would be bursting with ideas about 

the mystery of this ladder to nowhere.

*******

Here's mine—a Story Snapshot called (what else?) 

"The Ladder to Nowhere"

     Benji walked around the ladder to better see it from all sides. His fingers, sticky with the evidence of three s'mores, brushed rounded wooden edges and skimmed embedded, crusty nails. It was almost too dark to really inspect the mysterious ladder now that the sun was going down. He thought about calling J.D., but then everyone would follow, and he might get in trouble for wandering too far from camp. "Don't leave the circle of firelight," the scout leaders kept repeating. But they were only moms anyway, not real scoutmasters like he used to have in Indiana. 

     Bracing his hands on the side rails, he put his weight the bottom rung with one sneaker. Was it strong enough to hold his weight? He climbed six more rungs without taking a breath—still safe! From this perch, Benji peered up, up, up through the gloom, but the tree's neighbors huddled too close, blocking any final fingers of sunlight. If he was going to get to the top, he'd have to be fast ...