It rained hard much of the day yesterday, with wind, lightning, thunder, and some hail to keep things interesting. It was a good day to be a duck — those idiots played outside all day. Their only concession was to tuck their heads under their wings when the hail started. (They could have waddled into
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Kacey over at Wine on the Keyboard issued a couple of days ago — she showed us a great bridge photo and challenged her blog readers to play a little with Photoshop to convert a favorite photo to black and white. A big thank you to Kacey for this challenge because I had so much
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Today’s favorite things: Bog Boots Snow Grippers We didn’t get a lot of ice and sleet, just enough to make walking to the barn an adventure. Luckily, I remembered where I’d stored the new Snow Grippers. I ordered a couple pair of the pull-on ice cleats because I’m not as graceful on the ice as
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Honestly, the tree did not look this big out in the field. It’s an eastern red cedar, cut from a poor corner of pasture about 300 yards from the house. The full, bushy side of the growing tree faced southwest and benefitted from the bountiful sunshine such a view offers. The backside faced deep woods,
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The view from the roadside across a section of prairie I pass on the way to town. It rained hard a couple hours after I took this photo. If you look along the horizon, you can see the heavy gray of the storm moving in from the southwest.

Apparently we didn’t have enough white stuff on the ground already. We woke up Sunday morning to discover another five inches on the ground. And the road out of here looking like this. We don’t get a lot of traffic here, which is a good thing because in the best of times it’s only wide
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First it rained. A lot. The ducks and geese rejoiced and dabbled in the puddles all day. I wore my knee-high boots to wade through the little creek to get to the greenhouse. The dogs seemed disturbed by that. Apparently that upset their sense of order — people don’t belong in the water. Then it
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When I took this photo a few weeks ago, I felt a little sad because it seemed the end of the season for my beloved hammock. We’ve had a couple of frosts and one quite cold night since. There’s no green left in the trees. Yet all this week the air was warm, the breezes
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I grew up reading tales of pioneers, trappers, and Indians (we weren’t into the whole politically correct terminology thing back then). I loved tales of woodsmen who could track game — and people — by the evidence left on the trail. Broken twigs, a few turned leaves, and of course, footprints. I studied animal footprints
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