A Little Girl

TRACY, Calif. -- Sandra Cantu's body was found Monday inside a piece of luggage pulled from a San Joaquin County irrigation pond, Tracy police said. The 8-year-old girl disappeared more than a week ago.

What will happen to a world..., where little children are thrown away so easily? Why are there people who do things like this? How do we keep our children safe?

My heart aches for this little girl and those who love her.

Brownie's at it again.

"Hi boys. how are you today? Thought I'd come out and say hello."

"Brownie, are you being a good boy? I hope you're not butting Murph' around too much. You could hurt him with your horns."
"I'm just tired of him trying to get my grass, Farmlady. "
"Well Brownie, it's springtime and the grass is growing all over the place. There's plenty for everyone."
" I just want my share. I just don't want him to have more than me."
"Brownie, sweetheart, there is a lot of grass out there..., enough for everyone."
"Easy for you to say." (under his breath)
"What Brownie?"
"I said... HAVE A NICE DAY and please don't call me sweetheart."

"Hey Bart, how's it going?"
"Rather well, Farmlady. It's warm and the sky isn't falling anymore. I love all this green stuff."
"That's called grass and there will be lots of it for a while."
"It's very good."
" I'm glad your'e so happy about it. Lifes pretty good right now isn't it?"
"Yes it is. What are you doing here?"
"I'm going to the vegetable garden to do some weeding. I thought I would visit with all of you first . It's such a beautiful day."
"The vegetable garden? Can we come with you."

"Well sure. You go into the south pasture and I'll go to the garden. Maybe I'll find some of that grass with the flowers that you guys like so much. I'll feed it to you through the fence. Does that sound like a plan?"
"Yes it does Farmlady."
"Hey Murph'..., Freckles. Where are you going. Don't you want some special grass from the garden?"
(Murphy stops and looks back) "Thanks Farmlady but we'll just stay here near our house. The coyotes, last night, have us all on edge. Did you know that they were here below the house?"
"Yes I heard them but you are safe in your goathouse at night."
"Well Brownie says that they come and eat our grass and that they are magic. He says that they can walk through fences and come through walls. That's pretty scary."
"Brownie? Are you telling stories again? You know that Coyotes don't walk through walls."
"Are Murph' and Freckles eating grass?"
"What?"
"They will stay in the house most of the day and that leaves more grass for me."
" Well that's not very nice Brownie. You need to stop scaring Murphy. He worries too much, anyway, and Freckles listens to everything you say. You and Bart are older. You should know better."
"Ya...., sorry."
"Oh Brownie, what I'm I going to do with you?"

Palm Sunday and Poppies

THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil Crushed.
Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell:
the soil is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods
with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.
~ Gerard Manley Hopkins ~

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
~Robert Frost~

(please click on photos for close up view)

Give Me one More Day

"I'm not old, I just need re-potting." I have this sign over my front door. Sometimes I don't feel any older than I did 20 or 30 years ago, until I hike too far up the hill or wrestle with a goat who needs to have his hoofs trimmed. Then I realize that my body is not as agile as my thinking is anymore.., that this body is wearing out. And then I think to myself that it would be so nice if I could "re-pot" myself like some of the root bound plants in my garden. That's the problem. I'm root-bound. I need more room and better soil so I can keep growing, but here I am in my 60's, in a worn out old container that has been through some rough years of weathering the storms of life and there is very little that I can do accept lose weight and accept what is. Sometimes trying to be positive get really old. Sometimes being "happy"about everything gets tiresome.....

Just about the time I start feeling sorry for myself I take a look at what's around me. The mild Spring weather is edging up to 70 degrees. The linnets are frantically putting a nest together in the dog angel birdhouse and all the pansies have survived the cold nights and the wind...., and on my first Iris, about to bud, is a very small white spider.

The goats are happily eating the new grass in the pasture and smiling for the camera. We have planted some lettuce and tomatoes (the beginnings of a great summer garden) and a new, very yellow-orange bird has arrived to drink the hummingbirds sugar water but can't figure out how to get it's beak into the tiny opening. I'm sure the hummers are laughing over this. I am.

Spring has come to the Foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and the hills are covered in carpets of small white flowers and yellow Buttercups. Each day I find a new wildflower and take a picture of it. Then I go back home and look it up to see what it's called. Each day I put one foot in front of the other and step forth, looking for something new, something beautiful. Today the old container allows me one more place, small though it may be, to hold and keep this fleeting life of mine, one more day, one more hour, one more breath....

Chickens Running Amuck

A turkey hen has decided to be a chicken. She is hanging with our hens and they seem to accept her as if she was just another chicken. She spends most of the day with them and then she leaves. Maybe she has eggs near by.

The chickens are having their way with my garden outside the fence. Making holes and dusting themselves in the Spring sunshine. This part of the garden is a lost cause. Last year I redid it and now..., look! Dust, feathers and poop, all over the place. I guess I need a new attitude. Let's see now. They give us fresh eggs so I guess I can give them a place to do their chicken danceing...%!#@*?".

But..., this is where I draw the line.Henny Penny( one of our banties) is teaching the other hens some bad habits. I don't know how the Araucana got through the fence but she could not get back through when I went out to see what they were up to and I had to open the gate so she could leave.
When Moke was alive they never came inside the fence. He would chase them. But as the dogs got older, Henny Penny and Squeeky( our banties ) would tempt fate and come into the fenced garden once in a while. Now, Henny Penny is leading this mass movement with the big hens. Next thing you know they will be sitting on our porch demanding something to eat.

Well.., I'm not going to take it anymore. The inside garden is mine. MINE I say. This may call for drastic measures. Threats don't work. We may have to "chicken wire" the bottom of my beautiful iron fence. It won't look as nice but then Penny and her followers won't be tresspassing in my "near the house" garden any time soon. It may be a farm.., but I refuse to relinquish my inner garden to a bunch of feathered fowl.
They get a little crazy this time of year. Turkey season opened last weekend and we hear gun shots all around us. Do you think that this lone turkey hen thinks she can survive the season if she disguises herself as a chicken? Turkey are not as dumb as people think.

When I was Very Young....

I love old, children's books. They hold more than stories and poems. They are the keepers of memories and all the ghosts that held them. They are the long ago keepsakes of childhood..., when you were tucked into bed, with your favorite doll or stuffed animal and someone started to read from them about a magic world, so different and wonderful that you found yourself wishing you were there. The characters were alive and you thought you knew them personally..., that they were peeking at you from inside your toy chest, hiding in the closet or waiting under the bed to dance around you after you went to sleep.
I had a huge imagination when I was very young. I was an only child for seven years and my imaginary world had no limits. I made up stories and placed myself into every book that was read to me. As I got older and started reading on my own, these books became companions that were always there and that I could count on.They were some of my best friends.

This little book was one I remember well. When We Were Very Young by A.A. Milne was one of my favorites and probably the reason that I love poetry so much now. This book is not with my childhood books. Maybe it got lost or worn out..., or maybe it was a library book that my mother returned. I don't know. But I found it at a used book store, recently, and it is so familiar to me that I know it was a part of my life long ago.
The book was first printed in 1924 but this reprint was in Aug of 1950. I would have been 6 yrs. old. I love this book. It's red cloth cover is decorated with illustrations by E.H. Shepard. They were called "decorations".
Alan Alexander Milne (1882-1956) was a noted English playwright who decided to write a book about a boy and his bear. Christopher Robin (his son's name) and Winnie the Pooh (one of his son's stuffed animals) became so successful that his other work paled in comparison. He was annoyed that the children's books were the only really successful books that he was able to write, but he continued writing these stories because they made a lot of money.

After he died his widow sold the rights ,to the Pooh character, to the Walt Disney Company. Royalties from this sale, and part ownership of the copyright, were used to fund a fellowship program for writers in United Kingdom universities.
There is a poem in this book that is called Puppy and I~ it's one of my favorites. I will leave you with the last stanza....

...I met a Puppy as I went walking;
We got talking,
Puppy and I.
"Where are you going this nice fine day?"
(I said to the Puppy as he went by)."
"Up in the hills to roll and play."
"I'll come with you, Puppy," said I.

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Wordless Wednesday: The last goodby.