What have u done 2 my sister!?

"I need a beer."

Susie, a teetotaler, made this proclamation last night in my living room. I immediately texted her sister, back in Wisconsin. "What have u done 2 my sister!?" Debi texted back.

Taught her a new game. We like to play games. Rachel introduced us to BANG!, a Wild West card game in which, sometimes, a beer can save your life.

Susie was the sheriff, pitted against John and me, the outlaws.

The sheriff put the outlaws in jail, the sheriff had a huge arsenal of the best guns, the sheriff blasted away until the outlaws were both six feet under. Things were looking pretty good for the sheriff.

Until a sweaty renegade rode up in a cloud of dust and spoiled the sheriff's day.

If you don't mind ducking behind barrels to avoid hot lead; if you don't mind swaggering into a hypothetical saloon from time to time, try Bang! It's fun.

A bit earlier in the day, the girls played a different game.

Does Audrey have a clue?

No gatling guns or wild Indians here, just death by hanging or blow to the head with a candlestick. When the girls were little, the ultimate in game violence was rolling a Sick Princess across the lawn. Times have changed.

Surprise!

Actually, three surprises.

The first happened on Erica's birthday. Audrey and Rachel secretly rescued an adorable young guinea pig from the Humane Society. Audrey plopped the pig into a shoebox, swathed the box in wrapping paper and then poked a few discreet holes for air. You might say Erica was unsuspecting.

This photo was not staged.

Erica named her new friend Hallie. Hallie lived by herself in her cage in Erica's room until one day Erica got a second surprise:

Hallie had been with us a little over two months, the gestation period for guineas. The only clue was that she had put on a little weight, but then she was barely adolescent when Erica got her, so that really wasn't much of a hint. And we don't have a male guinea pig.

I'm not saying it was immaculate conception; just that Hallie must have been only barely pregnant when she showed up on Erica's birthday.

The third surprise is that I can remember my blogger password to make a post about it.

John's working on the planter.

Audrey's studying on a pile of seed sacks.

And the Red Sox are filling the shop with extra inning baseball.

These are the good old days.

These Are the Good Old Days

Hybrid Cat

I took this photo a while back. I like it, pretty much, except that all the iron parked under the porch railing bothers me.

It might have taken less time to actually move the iron than it did to edit it out of the photo. But would the cat keep her seat on the railing while I dug for keys and rearranged the parking lot? Maybe not. So I cleaned up the yard with Photoshop Elements instead.

Isn't that better? But then, because it's fun and because Photoshop Elements is somewhat addicting, I decided I wanted to turn my photo into a painting. So I applied the "Paint Daubs" filter. Here is the result:

Oops! That might be just a little too artsy for me. I like the background, but the cat just about got daubed away into meaningless, especially around the tail. So I had to back up a step and remove the daubs. Click click click, and I was back to the original, minus the used car lot. Don't you wish it were that easy when you drip latex on the rug?

And now the beauty of Photoshop shines. The next step is to copy just the cat and porch into a separate layer. I can keep this foreground material in its original condition, or maybe just daub it a wee bit, while using the full Paint Daub on the background layer behind it.

After I've daubed the background, I lay the unedited foreground cat and railing on top of the blurred background.

Compare the original to the final product, which is something of a painting/photograph hybrid.

Isn't Photoshop fun?

Quack Fatner

One time a friend of a friend in Denver asked the girls about growing up on a farm. "Are there nail salons out in the country?" she asked. "Does your little town have a Bath & Body Works?"

Our little town has four hundred residents, one convenience store, and no stop lights. Nope, no Bath & Body Works.

The next nearest town doesn't have a Bath & Body Works either, nor the next, nor the one after that.

But I like the small towns around me. Towns where the feed store sells

and

and

Towns where, when you drive by a snowman, you probably know who made it.

Nice work, Lydia and Laurel :)


So yeah, it's pretty hard to get by without a nail salon in the next block.

But at least, if I need some I know where to get it!

Spiderman

A few days ago, the girls persuaded me to watch Spiderman, the movie.

Then the real Spiderman showed up across the road.

This guy may have destroyed the Green Goblin, but he's imaginary.

I like this superhero better. He's real, and he turned the power back on!

The Trend is My Friend

My yard on Monday.

My yard on Wednesday.

Homegrown

Steal a couple of eggs from under Broody,

and a couple of last summer's onions from the bin.

Pluck a handful of spinach out of a snowbank

and voila'........
Homegrown quiche!

Platitudes

"April showers bring May flowers."

"March comes in like a lion, but goes out like a lamb."

Whoever wrote that probably didn't live in Nebraska.

Two power generators.

Acute Angle

What is this?

It may look like a mess to you, but that's not what I see.

I see a victory.

It is the skeleton of a hot frame I constructed last fall, built to test my friend Gordon's claim that spinach could live through Nebraska's cold winter and be ready for the table before most folks have even planted a spring seed.

Gordon was right. Garden fresh ready-to-eat spinach on April first. Who woulda' thunk it?

Sunshine Rooster

Someone gave me this blown glass rooster.

March apparently didn't get the "go out like a lamb" memo from on high. This rooster is covering for the outdoor grey by splashing spring colors around my living room. I like his attitude.

Milking Time :( Again.

How to Buy a Bull

Buying a bull is easy.

1. Pore over the catalog.

2. Pore over the cattle.

3. Nod to the auctioneer.

4. Write a check.

We used to haul our daughters with us to bull sales. They held our hands and sat on our laps, thinking more about the free lemonade and sandwiches than the actual proceedings. One time I came in late to a very large and crowded sale, one that we were just watching with no intention of buying a bull. I stood scanning the seats to try and locate the rest of my family. A young daughter saw me searching, and waved. Glimpsing her flapping arm in the sea of bidders, the auctioneer mistook it for a $2000 bid. Fortunately, a real buyer wanted the bull more, sparing us an awkward situation in front of a very large crowd.

Times have changed. The girls know not to wave at auctions, and we talk with them about genetics, about how high we're going to bid and about which heifer they should buy to build up their own small herds. They're there because they want to be. That's fun.

Happy 50th

No, these Belgians haven't turned 50, although I learned yesterday that the longest-lived Belgian horse on record made it to fifty-two. This pair is just six years old.

With a nod to the current green trend, we are recycling a mylar balloon left from someone's birthday. (If you're wondering who the someone is, it's not one of the household females. You'll have to figure it out from there.)

Horses are spooky. When confronted with anything new or suprising, their natural instinct is to take off at breakneck speed in any direction away from the threat. If you want to take draft horses to a parade, where they might just encounter a stray mylar balloon, you need to help them overcome this tendency. That's why I tied the balloon to their fence, right above the feed trough, where there's no avoiding it.

After a bit of initial skepticism, Kandy and Jess decided to risk the mylar for another bite of hay. Pretty soon, when the balloon didn't bite them, things were back to status quo.

John once told me he works draft horses for relaxation. But I work them for adrenaline, theirs or mine, I don't care. I get bored with same-old-same-old, so the next time I passed the horse pen, I grabbed the balloon and wadded it a few times. Y'know, a kid at a parade might rattle his balloon, and we can't have horses spooking. Tweaking the balloon for Kandy and Jess produced the expected result--two tons of horseflesh thundering across the pen.

They'll thank me in the long run. And if they don't, the kids at the parade certainly will.

Photographer Begets Photographer

My dad, shooting the sunset

Silence

In silence, we watched these Florida manatees, vacationing, as we were, in San Diego. Manatees are also loosely called "sea cows," and they weigh as much as any of our land cattle. But their grace in the water is a far cry from anything related to the clumsy, clattering movements of a beef cow as it jumps from a stock trailer or lashes out at you with a powerful hoof.

Silent was the best way to watch.



Earlier, we'd slipped onto a whale watching boat with a load of other tourists. Natural history volunteers in bright yellow slickers chattered on about the habits of migrating California grey whales, holding up maps and bones and posters to illustrate their points. The captain made jokes over the ship's loudspeaker; children moaned at the puns while others moaned with seasickness.

Then a whale spouted. A prolonged and total hush settled instantly over the whole entourage.

Let thy speech be better than silence, or be silent.

--Dionysius the Elder

In Search of Spring

Four Up

This man, Mike,

hired this man, Dennis,

to teach him how to drive four horses at a time.

This man

was asked to help with the horses. He is happy.

Driving four horses is not as easy as it looks. First of all, you have to individually move four lines, held in your only two hands.

Think about it. Your hands are connected to eight places on four horses. Each line splits and goes to the left side, or the right, of bits in two horses' mouths. If you want to make a smooth turn, you'll want your wheel team to follow right in the path of your lead team. That means you have to turn the lead horses first, then let the wheelers take a few more steps, and then turn them just the same amount. And you only have two hands.

Horses are like people, in that some would rather dive in and get the work done, while some are happy to let another pull the load. Look at the body language of Faith and Emmylou, the lead team. Faith is leaning into her collar, and Emmylou's shoulder muscles are obviously working. Bess, in the back, looks like she might be working her collar, too, but she's not. She's just testing to see if she can reach the grass. She and Homer have found a comfortable pocket between the wagon and the lead team, walking just fast enough to keep up but not pulling any weight. John's job is to tap Homer on the behind from time to time, to remind him that he needs to apply himself. Mike's job is to use his voice and his only two hands to hold back the leaders - just an inch, or they will stop completely - and encourage the wheelers to step up.

My job is to take pictures and enjoy.

Woot! Woot!

I am so full of joy I can hardly contain it.

I buzzed into town with Audrey this morning; she only had one class and I had to grocery shop, so I rode with her. She had coupons for two free drinks at the local coffee shop. We zipped around the drive through before her class. As I dropped her off at the college, I said, "Tú tomas café." It's a bit I picked up from my online Spanish class last night, and I thought it meant "You drink coffee." Not exactly world class conversation, but it's the best I can do in Spanish just now. In fact, I was pretty proud of myself, but Audrey challenged me with a different verb for "to drink" - "beber." We parted, pondering the meanings of Spanish verbs, and I drove off thinking about how great it is to keep learning throughout your whole life, how great it is to share small moments with your daughters. These little things, along with a dose of sunshine, would have been enough to keep me smiling all day.

On the way home, having just come from music class, Audrey spoke of Mozart, and of how utterly gifted he was, musically. A friend of his once wrote a long and complicated piece of music for him, and then played it for Mozart. Mozart thanked him and arose to leave. "Don't you want the music?" his friend asked. "Here. I've written it down for you." Mozart replied that, after hearing it only once, he didn't need the sheet music, as he had captured it all in his head. His friend challenged him to sit down and play it, which Mozart did, perfectly. And then began to play again, this time composing a number of beautiful variations as he played.

Audrey and I wondered out loud how anyone, upon hearing such a tale, can doubt the existence of God. Surely the ability to write music of Mozart's caliber, or to hear and remember it, has not evolved, accidentally, out of nothing. Audrey then told me a bit she's been learning about the transmission of information by nerves....synapses, ions, cell walls opening and closing at just the right moments.......again, all accidental? Since when did anything so delicate and so complicated come about without purposeful effort by its maker? We marvelled together about the beautiful, intricate, and intentional design we see in the world around us.

spring colors, visible via optic nerve

As if these matters couldn't produce enough joy to last me all day, I watered my garden! Yep, you read it right - my outdoor garden needed water. My spinach, planted last fall, has lived through a wild temperature roller coaster, only partially mitigated by my new hot frame. Even under the plastic, temps ranged from 99 degrees (yes! That's no typo!) to 9 degrees in one short week. A tough ride for anyone, but the little critters held on. I'm so thankful.

spring garden

Barely inside from loving on spinach and broccoli in the outdoors, I got a text message. A friend who has been battling cancer got her latest scan results....NO SPOTS ON THE LUNGS! Woot! Woot! She is soaring, carrying me with her.

spring to new life

And now, in the warmth and cool and sun of a beautiful spring afternoon, I get to go help my hubby hitch four horses to a wagon. We've not driven "four up" before. I've got to quit writing this and bolt for the fairgrounds.

Lest you think I live a charmed existence, the sour economy chawed our spring vacation to bits before we could pack the first suitcase, so we're staying home. Worse, I said goodbye last week to a friend who died of ALS. Perhaps today's little miracles seem all the richer because they didn't crop up on an unspotted canvas. No matter; my heart still sings thanksgiving.

Help for Procrastinators

"If you eat a frog first thing in the

morning,


the rest of your day will be wonderful."

---Mark Twain

Sometimes I go through my whole day avoiding a task I don't want to do. Sometimes I know I should do it next, but I don't want to, so I find piddly wasty things to do instead of knuckling down. The burden can lurk in the back of my mind all day, taking the spring out of my step and the sparkle out of my eyes.

I think Mark Twain was right: if you tackle the unpleasant task early, with gusto, the rest of your waking hours are a bit sunnier.

I'm off to eat my frog. Won't you set about yours, too? Bon Appetit!

Authentic vs. Religious

Wisdom from TJ (through JT)

In matters of style, swim with the current;

in matters of principle, stand like a rock.

- Thomas Jefferson

(thanks to Joe T.S. for the quote)

Finished Product Up Close

Someone requested a photo of how the mane braiding turned out.

"Are you lookin' at ME?"

Winter Joy

First, for our little town's winter parade, we dressed up the horses.


We sewed long, satiny mane rolls, fabric ribbons to braid in the horses' manes. We fashioned bright flowers from silk carnations, pipe cleaners and grosgrain ribbon. (Where is our florist friend Rebecca when you need her!??)

We spent the rest of the morning braiding and unbraiding, until we got it right.

Then we dressed ourselves in lots and lots of layers. Insulated coveralls may not look very celebratory, but we went for function over fashion.

That's Erica in the back. She and Merrill were supposed to be tossing chocolates to kids lining the streets. However, most of the kids lining the streets were sitting in parked cars with the heaters running, sheltered against 15 degree snow and wind.

Somehow, at the end of the parade, the candy supply was low and spirits were high.

Still giving thanks.

These colors belong to my first cousin once removed.

I shared Thanksgiving dinner with her and sixty-five others, between the cattle and the prickly pear in Central Texas.

Sixty-five first cousins twice removed, second cousins once removed, and even some third cousins, all of them connected to three sisters born between 1910 and 1922. I knew and loved the laughs and crinkly eyes of all three sisters, once they had grown into grandmothers and great aunts. I slept on their carpets, ate in their kitchens and wrapped my lanky-girl body around their window unit air-conditioners, hiding from the scorch of many a Texas summer.

We didn't need the A/C for Thanksgiving, but we didn't need coats, either. I got up while it was still dark, making sure to slip shoes over my bare feet before padding toward the bathroom. Earlier, between turkey and dominoes, we had stomped a few scorpions on the floor of my uncle's big "party barn." You know you're in Texas when you're trying to keep bare feet away from scorpions on Thanksgiving.

When we weren't marvelling at scorpions or at how each others' kids had grown, we found time to do a lot of talking and listening,
a lot of game playing,

and a lot of laughing.

Brothers laughing.

Sisters laughing.

The sister below wasn't laughing in the cool of the morning. While John and I chose to share beds in the loft with nineteen of our nearest and dearest, Kate and my cousin started out the night sleeping in the great outdoors. Perhaps they thought the coyotes would be quieter than the snores. They were wrong.

These are my uncles and cousins, rattling the cowboy breakfast grate.
This is my one-eyed niece, Laura. She looks a little like Violet on The Incredibles. Also like Violet, she will now and then surprise you with amazing things.

Laura didn't spend much time in the party barn, as she was too busy digging bones out of the Texas scrub, asking cousin Audrey for help with identification.

Laura and her mama drove a long way to attend. We did, too---our van has made this drive so many times that it automatically stops at the best barbeque anywhere close to I-35 in Oklahoma. It also knows exactly how far north you can go and still find Blue Bell ice cream in the C-stores. We usually stop at least once for Blue Bell: pistachio almond fudge, pecan pralines and cream, moollennium crunch, chocolate mint chip.

You've already seen my best photos of the day but, if you were there and happen to want to see more, I've put a slide show up on the web. There are lots of photos and they may take a few minutes to load, so click on the link and then go stir up some hot chocolate in the kitchen while the computer catches up. http://www.kodakgallery.com/ShareLanding.action?c=369nb64i.aa1zhiiq&x=0&y=-xuy9tw&localeid=en_US&cm_mmc=site_email-_-site_share-_-core-_-view_photos_button

Enjoy. And y'all come back!

1 degree Fahrenheit, 22 mph NW wind blowing across the Nebraska plains

...as long as we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. :)

A Woman's Mind

A long time ago, my stalwart Grandmama said to me, "A woman's mind should be well furnished. She will spend much time alone in it."

After she died, I tried in vain to discover whether the line was a quote, or original to her.

A little bit after that, I found out that it was true.

The Friendship Myth

The girl next door got married last summer. Her fiance/husband had to disentangle himself from a number of female friends that he had acquired over his few years as a young adult.

It was a bit awkward, and a bit painful for those who didn't wish to be loosed. "You mean we can't even talk on the phone anymore??" they asked incredulously. "You mean we're not going to email any more? We're not going to Facebook?"

A look back through history indicates people have long known that it simply doesn't work for adult males and females to spend much time alone together and remain "just close friends." And yet, in media portrayal and in practice, this generation seems to think that young ladies and young men can be close, one-on-one personal friends, without the dating/mating mentality and hurts creeping in.

Call me skeptical, but I still think not. I had written quite a bit more on the subject when Rachel pointed me to an article that says it much better than I did.

http://www.boundless.org/2005/articles/a0001200.cfm

It is well worth the read.

---

Kissing a lot of frogs probably doesn't find you a prince; it just makes you slimy.

Veterans' Day at the Nursing Home

The vets got applause and boutonnieres, the girls played patriotic music, and everyone got a chance to remember that freedom isn't free.

Freedom isn't free. The Bible says, If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed. Jesus paid a price to make us free from the corruption that dwells within. The corruption is huge; the price paid for deliverance equally hefty.....death to the innocent son of God.

Web photo

Another bit about freedom is inscribed on the Tower facade at the University of Texas.

Web photo

Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free, it says. The planners lifted a phrase from the Word of God and stamped it on their building, but failed to mention the source of the truth that buys the promised freedom. The full sentence in the Bible reads: Then said Jesus to those Jews which believed on him, If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; and ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free. Too bad U.T. doesn't give credit for truth and freedom, or for the quote about them, where credit is due.

Many people have died to buy our political and religious freedom. God's own son died to buy our spiritual freedom. Thank you to all of them.

A Little Rain

The power that men enjoy for a brief space on earth is not without the cognizance and the will of God. If we fall into the hands of men, and meet suffering and death from their violence, we are none the less certain that everything comes from God. The same God who sees no sparrow fall to the ground without his knowledge and will, allows nothing to happen except it be good and profitable for his children and the cause for which they stand. We are in God's hand. Therefore, "Fear not."

--Dietrich Bonhoeffer

The Cost of Discipleship

(thanks to Jim T. for the reminder)

Buttoning up the Fall Garden

In the wide world of cornfields that surrounds my house, the big boys are still havesting.

But here at home, we have gathered the last of the pumpkins,

piled squashes on the picnic table,

patted soil over next year's garlic crop,

hidden spinach and brussels sprouts from winter's blast,

and said goodbye to gardening.

In the blink of an eye, February's flurry of seed catalogs will hit the mailbox

and we'll start again.

But for now, it's time to rest.       Time for ThanksGiving.

Curious Dog

Apple Picking

Isn't this sweet? Great family time in the fall sunshine, with three generations picking apples from my generous neighbor's generous tree.

We wound up with enough apples to dry, enough to can applesauce, to make apple cake and apple crisp, enough for two batches of apple jelly.

I thought we were all working nicely together picking apples, when, suddenly, an armed native appreared in the tree.

Then my own father turned on me.

He muttered something about Tom Sawyer. Yes, picking the apples had been my idea, and yes, he and the others were doing the lion's share of the work.

But somebody had to take the pictures!

More House-Hugging Critters

Audrey tells me that this, a praying mantis, is the only insect that can swivel its head. I snapped his portrait from numerous angles; everywhere I went, he followed me with a robotic pivot.

Rachel asks if the ladybug was really there, or a figment of my Photoshop imagination. It was there. I cropped this photo and bumped the contrast; other than that it is unedited.

In the Dry

John and the farrier worked in the machine shed last week. They talked about horses and homeschooling over the whisper of grey drizzle falling on the tin roof.

Midnight

Watch ye therefore: for ye know not when the master of the house cometh, at even, or at midnight, or at the cockcrowing, or in the morning:

Lest coming suddenly he find you sleeping.

And what I say unto you I say unto all,

Watch.

Mark 13:35-37

Keeping the Creepies Out

The down trend in the outdoor thermometer means lots of creepy crawlies are trying to get into my house. This guy slept on the front door for half a day, taking life from whatever warmth radiated through the glass. The worst autumn offenders are the mice who find their way in. They are nasty and destructive. The war rages every year---I'm armed with traps; the mice with determination and a will to survive. But this fall I have added a new and powerful weapon to my arsenal.

We don't usually keep cats indoors, but Sage had a mishap that fractured her hip. The vet prescribed six weeks' of house confinement. Midway through, John saw Sage padding across the floor, a mouse tail dangling between her teeth. And I have seen no sign of rodents, even though October is generally prime real estate season for mice hunting new winter digs.

Sage has earned a cozy place indoors, even though her hip is long since healed.

And, with winter coming on, I might just get used to having this personal heater at the foot of my bed.

Poultry in Motion

We like a little variety in the laying flock.

This Golden Laced Wyandotte is stealing a sip from the dog's water bowl.

This one's a Rhode Island Red. She's thinking she'll head back to Rhode Island, but we know the car will never make it that far, so we took the keys away.

And this fella is a Black Australorp. He is as stately as his name.

Moon Shots

When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers,

the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained;

(black night moon photo by Erica. Thanks, E.)

what is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?

It happens every year: John Deere green overtakes the green of summer.

Cubs!

The Cubs are in the playoffs, which is like setting bulls loose in a china shop. It is almost always unruly, noisy ... and something is bound to come crashing down. Usually the Cubs.

Mike Lopresti, USA Today

If you love baseball, you've got to love October. I'm listening to every game I can, determined not to let the memory of unused tickets to World Series Game 5 detract from my enjoyment of this year's tournament. Yep, that's right, THE WORLD SERIES! I had a ticket to the biggest party in baseball; I loaded up the crew and buzzed out to Denver for the game, but never unpacked my suitcase. The STINKIN' RED SOX swept the Rox in four games, so there was no Game 5. I'm still a bit miffed. Couldn't they have let the STINKIN' ROCKIES win one measly game?

"We would really love to ... you know ... there's no sense even mentioning it," (Cubs Manager Lou) Piniella says. I know what he means. I would have loved to, too.

Espanol

Los estudiantes aprenden en casa y en colegio español. La maestra en casa también.

Monday Morning

If you ever get a chance to build a house, try to face your kitchen windows east. Sunshine splashing around my breakfast is a better kick-start than caffeine, even on a Monday morning.

A Short Century

This is one of my two favorite grandmothers. She lived all her life in south Texas, where she taught me to play Spite 'N Malice and Canasta, and taught me to make candy: toffee, divinity, fudge, pralines. She taught me that fresh strawberries were extra good if you held them by their green tops and dipped them in a bowl of sugar before you ate them, and that I shouldn't watch soap operas, even though she did. Her Sunday-after-church dinners were a southern feast: ham and okra gumbo, black-eyed peas, mustard greens, cornbread and the best cobbler I've ever eaten, made from wild, thorny Texas dewberries.

Besides cooking, she liked to sit and visit. As a child, I would lie after supper on her thick living room carpet, eyes closed and ears open, listening to stories that bobbed and rebounded through the air above me. Avoiding bedtime banishment, I pretended to be asleep until I actually was asleep, wrapped in the comfortable conversation of aunts and great aunts and adult cousins who knew and loved each other well.

My grandmother was born in October of 1910. October the tenth --- 10-10-10. The rhythm of her birthday numbers underscored what I already knew: she was one-of-a-kind and very special. Through her, 10-10-10 leapt out of the history books and became real--playing cards and eating cobbler with me in my very present daily existence.

Decades later, I still think of my grandmother every time the month and date and year align, and even when they almost align, as they did twice last week. The time I spent with that 10-10-10 grandmother seems not so far away, and yet I can almost touch the next 10-10-10.....October 10, 2010.

How can a century be so short?

Corn, Corn, Corn

My sister-in-law is passionate about sweet corn, especially when it is fresh off the stalk. But she lives in the midst of the Dallas/Fort Worth concrete metroplex. When she sees cornrows, they look like this:

Web photo                                                                                             

Not like this:

An old retired farmer was selling sweet corn, still in the husks, out of the back of his pickup last week. His son had picked it that morning. On a whim, I scooped a dozen ears into his empty WalMart bag as he held it out. Not wanting to drive the ten miles home and back for a box, I buzzed into the post office and thumped my bag of corn up on the counter. "How much is it going to cost me for a box and priority postage to Texas?" Not as much as you would think. "Here--pack these around your corn," the postal clerk offered as she lifted a stack of free farm newspapers from behind the counter. Promising to return, I took the box and drove six blocks to the vet: "Do you have an extra ice pack?" The vet usually has leftover ice packs from pharmaceutical shipments. "How many do you want?" asked the receptionist. I told her one, to chill my sweet corn on its ride south; she gave me two. "Oh, and if you're going to the post office right away," she added, "would you mind mailing this box for me?" Another six blocks to the dollar store for a birthday card, and then I was back at the post office with my package and the vet's package. Two days later, my sister-in-law shucked and ate fresh, juicy sweet corn in her Fort Worth kitchen.

I love the way things work in small towns. Happy birthday, Miss Wusan!

Cinderella

Thank you to the princess who did my sweeping for me.

Visitors

Sophie doesn’t live here.

Rachel doesn't live here either, but when they're both here at the same time, I get to see a fresh subject through a fresh photographer's eyes. Thanks for the photos, Rachel. Nice.