Summer of Drought

The summer of 1955 I was eleven and we were in the middle of three years of drought. All the wells on our farm had gone dry except our house well and thank goodness we still had that!

A water witcher, aka a dowser, had been summoned (hired) to find where to dig a new well. He found a spot south of the barn on the other place. Not far from those trees way in the background between me and Queenie. And the well was a good one once it was finished.

In the meantime the little creek in the cow pasture had also gone dry.  We had to have water for the livestock so Dad paid for a load of water to be brought out from town. Always one to be wanting to know everything that was going on, I had to watch when the tank truck got there so I went out by the stock tank in the barn lot.

Dad opened the gate from the barnyard to the cow lot then the one from the cow lot into the hog lot which was the only way to drive to the well at the windmill. Once the water from the tank truck was emptied into the well it could then be pumped from there back into the stock tank.

There were some old boards with nails in them in the hog lot so Dad was walking ahead of the truck picking those up and heaving them out of the way. He wasn't paying any attention to where he was throwing and neither was I. SMACK!  A chunk of wood sailed right to my head. I let out a cry loud enough for Dad to hear me. "Are you alright?" he yelled. A stunned and only slightly coherent me responded as I turned to go to the house: "I'm okay, I'm just frightened."

June '26 Books Read

Seven books read in this month of June that went by faster than a speeding train. Eight if you count The Sugar Train again as I did read it last month and again this month. 

First the three library books: I thought I had read all the Sandra Brown books until I discovered Exclusive and Outfox in the large print section.

Mona's Eyes by Thomas Schlesser caught my attention because of the title and because it was listed as the most read book in Europe. Ten year old Mona is in danger of losing her eyesight. Her beloved grandfather makes it his mission to introduce Mona to fifty-two works of art in the year they believe she has left before going blind. It was interesting that attached to the back of this book was an envelope containing pictures of the paintings being viewed in the book. 

The Sugar Train by Becky Faber is the book I have included again. Not only did I read it again, I had the pleasure of hearing Becky read some of her poems from the book when she visited us on the 19th. 

Adjoining Rooms is a collection of poems written by Nebraska women writers. Nebraska Presence is an anthology containing two of Becky's poems and four by Ted Kooser, a poet I am quite fond of. The note from Becky accompanying these three books she sent began: "It is my mission today to overwhelm you with poetry!" She did a good job and I have been enjoying reading all the poems.

Onward and Upward in the Garden by Katherine S. White (wife of E. B. White - Charlotte's Web should jump to your mind) is a book about gardening catalogs sent to me by my daughter Kari. It is  interesting to find just how many gardening catalogs there were. As I told her, it brought back a lot of memories of the catalogs arriving in January or February and Mom going through them deciding what to order. Then later when I had my own home and garden patch doing the same thing.

The final book is Local Wonders - Seasons in the Bohemian Alps by Ted Kooser. This one was hand delivered by Becky when she was here. I was so excited because I thought it was another book of his poetry. Instead it is a four season collection of his thoughts and what was going on in his life. I could not have been more wrong about being disappointed that it wasn't poetry. Kooser's prose is just as beautiful as his poetry. It is a book I will read time and time again. (The Bohemian Alps is the name given to the area of Nebraska where Kooser lives.)

This is an example of his prose: "The sky is like old blue denim just before dawn, with one round hole worn through, exposing the cold bony knee of the moon. I have been hearing the trilling of tree frogs.  That a frog - even one with the chirp of a bird - would live in a tree (not even in but on), clinging with little suction cups to keep from falling, is the height of craziness, but forty feet in the air, light as leaves, their tiny hearts are slow and steady under kite paper skin, and their black eyes shine with moonlight. Let us praise all who ascend to such high places on the sheer face of the world."

Whatever I read in July will have to be really good to top what I've read this month.

Tangerine - (The song, not the fruit.)

For some reason the song Tangerine came to mind. It was a song popular before I was born but I wasn't aware of it until the movie version of The Bridges of Madison County, starring Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep came out in 1995. Do you remember Robert Kincaid and Francesca Johnson dancing to Tangerine in the kitchen of her house?

When I moved back to WDM in '84, I lived in a two bedroom apartment with my two youngest children. It was okay, but I had almost always lived in the country and started thinking about trying to find a house to rent outside the city.

One day, on the way to Winterset, I happened across a deserted old farmhouse. There was a gate at the end of the driveway with a "No trespassing" sign on it. I hoped to find out who owned the property and if the house could be rented. A nearby neighbor told me others had asked but the owner wouldn't rent it to anyone.

The covered bridges of Madison County had intrigued me from the time I first saw them in the fall of 1960. When Robert James Waller's book came out in 1992, I was just as big a fan of the romantic story as thousands of others. 

Soon the movie rights were sold. It was decided the movie should be filmed in Iowa. The search was on for the right farm house to be used as the Johnson homestead. 

When 'Francesca's House' was found and I saw a picture of it, I recognized it immediately. Like so many other times and instances in my life, I wondered: "What are the odds?"

Before The Bridges of Madison County, before Francesca's House, there was this old uninhabited farmhouse. A No Trespassing sign hung on the gate barring the driveway......

The Sheep Detectives

 

We watched The Sheep Detectives movie today and I loved it - except for the part where George Hardy (Hugh Jackman) is found dead. If you have the opportunity, watch it. 

It reminded me so much of my own experiences raising sheep in 1983. I had purchased a small herd of ewes that had already been bred and were to begin lambing the first part of February. I kept track of the ewes and their lambs in my journal so I have it for reference, but for the two most memorable experiences of that time, I don't need any reminders, I remember them very well even though it was forty-three years ago. 

When the movie was over we both agreed that we had really liked it. In all the years we have been together, I had never told Bud how it had been for me caring for my flock when I had never before had any experience with sheep and lambing. Today was the day.

The first lamb was born on Groundhog Day with no assistance needed. Three days later when I got to the barn, ewe #14 was straining to give birth but couldn't. All I knew about lambing I had learned from reading my Raising Small Livestock book. Which is how I knew I had to reach up inside the ewe, grasp the lamb's legs and pull. Either that, or let them both die. The lamb was already dead, but the ewe survived. Per my journal: "My first time ever for such an experience. Really got to me."

Around the same time the first lamb was born, another ewe, #51 had gone down with what is referred to as "downer sheep syndrome" which can be the result of various issues but leads to the result of the sheep being unable to stand. So the day after the experience with #14 I had #51 giving birth to a healthy little male which surprised me because she was so weak. Then three hours later she birthed another one which did not survive. But I had to do something because she had no milk for her baby and I didn't want to have to bottle feed him.

Solution: Pen #14, who had milk, with #51 and her lamb. But #14 didn't want anything to do with another mother's baby. I told Bud how I had backed the healthy ewe into the corner, held her there, looked her in the eyes and explained: "You've got milk and that little guy needs milk. You have to let him suckle." It took a day or two of forcing her to stand still for the lamb to feed but she finally accepted his nursing. When he was done, he went back to his mother and curled up next to her. This went on for a week or so until #51 died and her lamb and #14 stayed together with no further problems.

After I told Bud this, he said: "You should write a story about it." I told him I had tried, making several starts, changing my mind for the arc and beginning over anew. I still have those pages with at least three different versions of scenarios and characters. The writer I wanted to be isn't going to be, but at least I finally shared those two lambing experiences - and I still like movies with sheep in them. 

Some of my ewes and lambs in the background with my first grandson, Brock, in the foreground.

Those were the days my friend.

A Poem for Douglas

Last week I said I was going to try to write a poem for my son Douglas.  Instead I found this one for his sailor's soul.  (Photo is of one of the boats he has built.)

A Wanderer's Song By John Masefield

A wind's in the heart of me, a fire's in my heels,
I am tired of brick and stone and rumbling wagon-wheels;
I hunger for the sea's edge, the limit of the land,
Where the wild old Atlantic is shouting on the sand.

Oh I'll be going, leaving the noises of the street,
To where a lifting foresail-foot is yanking at the sheet;
To a windy, tossing anchorage where yawls and ketches ride,
Oh I'l be going, going, until I meet the tide.

And first I'll hear the sea-wind, the mewing of the gulls,
The clucking, sucking of the sea about the rusty hulls,
The songs at the capstan at the hooker warping out,
And then the heart of me'll know I'm there or thereabout.

Oh I am sick of brick and stone, the heart of me is sick,
For windy green, unquiet sea, the realm of Moby Dick;
And I'll be going, going, from the roaring of the wheels,
For a wind's in the heart of me, a fire's in my heels.

If I could transport Doug to St. John for a week or two of sailing by twitching my nose like Samantha on 'Bewitched', I would. 💙😎

May '26 Books Read

 Eight books read in the merry month of May.......

Tana French is one of my adopted authors which means I buy/donate the book to the library and get to be the first to read it. The Keeper is the third and final of a series set in the west of Ireland and featuring retired Chicago police detective Cal Hooper. French is a great author and I have really loved this series.

Birthright, Angels Fall, Black Hills and Come Sundown are all by Nora Roberts. I chose these four because of their settings - Blue Ridge Mountains, Wyoming, South Dakota and Montana - all places I have been to and have fond memories of. Roberts is a very good writer and great to read when you want to escape, lost in a well told story.

The Sugar Train is a book of poems written by, and sent to me by our friend, Becky Faber (University of Nebraska) with illustrations by her grandson, Robert Davis. 

Elizabeth Strout is an author I will always read. Her characters usually have had some setbacks to overcome. She writes in scenes rather than beginning to end. The Things We Never Say asks the question: "How is it that we know so little about one another, even those closest to us?" It makes me think of how divided our country is, how easy it is to dismiss others without even trying to know them.

We Live Here Now is by Sarah Pinborough, an English author new to me. It is a modern gothic tale about a husband and wife who move into a haunted house. The couple has secrets they keep from one another - and the house has its own secrets. 

Next up is a book that "topped bestseller lists across Europe". I'm looking forward to beginning my first June read.

But before I go -- one of Becky's poems from The Sugar Train:

Gretel

I drop them carefully

small pieces of black on white

marking the journey from one forest

to the next

not bread crumbs to find the way back,

just words from where I have been

with no idea of where I'll go

End of May Catch Up

 

Mother's Day was a little late this year but definitely better late than never. 

Doug and Shelly came down the Saturday after MD bringing with them this very colorful hanging planter as well as the oranges and grape jelly Oriole feeder.

In the two weeks since putting it up, the birds have gone through the whole 32 oz. jar of jelly that came with the feeder.

Shelly also gave me these two pottery bowls made by a friend of hers.

I love the organic leaf designs on them.

It didn't take long for this beautiful female Baltimore Oriole to find the grape jelly.

They seem to prefer the jelly over the oranges.

The female Rose-breasted Grosbeak (and the male) also like the grape jelly and the oranges.

House Finches, too, have been visiting the colorful feeder. I just haven't taken pictures of them.

I finally convinced Hubby Dearest it was time for a new lawnmower. 

Because he is so handy at fixing things, he kept the old one going for years.

The new one is battery operated and self-propelled - so much nicer and easier.

At the first part of May, I hadn't even decided if I was going to have pots of flowers around the patio and deck.

By the end of the month.....well, you'll see---- 😍

Moss Rose in the 80-some year old mailbox my parents had on their farm.

Lemon Slice Calibrachoas in the Guy Wolff planter and ....

Impatiens in the 'papa bear, mama bear, baby bear' planters on the stairs.

More Moss Rose in the planter grandson Brock made for me and my ususual salmon Geraniums in the corner.

Pink Verbena in the planter on the deck and Rosy Dawn Wave Petunias in the hanging pots.

This is the first time I have had wave petunias - always considering them too much more expensive.

But maybe they're worth it - they're already bushing out and filling the planters.

You may notice in the previous photo that all four hooks have bird feeders hanging on them.

This female Downey Woodpecker found the suet feeder this morning. I've also seen a Blue Jay at it. 

There has been a Northern Flicker pecking on the bark of the oak tree but so far it hasn't come to the suet feeder - at least not while I'm looking out the window. 

Finally there have been some deer closer than up on the hillside in the meadow. But still none with fawns at their side.

This one posed looking back at me before jumping the fence into the trees on the other side.

This may or may not be the same doe. I'm calling her Renee because.....

..... this is what came to mind when I saw her leaving ......

🎶"Just walk away Renee

you won't see me follow you back home...." 🎶