These final days of winter.

He can't play the guitar.  He can't do chores.  He can't help me clean the cafe to get it ready to open. Then we remembered how we used to spend those final, restless days of winter, when the sun would shine one moment, and ice, hail and rain would fall from the sky the next, and mud coated … Read More >

Poor guy.

Yes.  I got a lovely poem for my birthday. The other part of the story was that we got to spend the weekend in the ER after Bob fell on the ice while doing chores.  He broke his arm in two places.  He typed that poem up anyhow, even though his arm was blown up enough to look like the balloons my … Read More >

Every Day

Turned 50 on Monday.  Woke up to this beside my bed, my gift from Bob: Every day, we sit with the stream. As the spark of Venus fades into the wakening  embers of dawn over the field,  we turn to the path that takes us into the woods,  threading through the trees, crossing rows of … Read More >

Oh my oh my…

Who says a great Christmas gift can't also be a tax write-off? For years, Dad wanted an ultrasonic pregnancy tester for the pigs and sheep.  Mom fought him on it.  "We don't need to check for pregnancy when we can just see if they come back into heat!" Admittedly, that frugal perspective has … Read More >