Spring comes every year, and yet it's new every morning. Sam left before dawn, headed to the fishing hole. With fishing it's important to be first to the hole. I roused slightly, saying our goodbyes, then dozed off again until I heard the birds singing.
My neighbor Joe stopped and asked if I had my hummingbird feeders out.
There are few things cuter than a bunny rabbit munching on a newly-sprouted dandelion. Between the days of rain and warm sunshine the yard has exploded with yellow dandelions, green clover and tiny white flowers, for which I have no name.
We were sitting at the breakfast table lingering over bowls of oatmeal when Sam read out loud, "DeWitt Jones is a National Geographic photographer who has used his profession to celebrate what's right about the world."
I rather vowed I would not discuss closet organizing or capsule wardrobes or anything like that for my Lenten commitment. After only four days I realized it was a terrible commitment because we are right in the middle of a season change where one day it's a chilling 30 degrees and the next day it's a warm 70 degrees.
Little over a week ago we joined the Bulldog Nation headed to Nashville, Tennessee, for the SEC Tournament.
This is not your pretty little innocuous storybook ladybug -- not at all.
"Men and fish are a lot alike. Both get into trouble when they open their mouth."
Down came four inches of rain and up sprang dozens upon dozens of green daffodil foliage. Daffodils being as much a harbinger of spring as the red-breasted robin scavenging across the muddy ground hoping for a hearty breakfast of earthworm.
Last week talking to R.C., he described what he'd like to do in retirement.
"Have a little farm," he said. "Maybe some chickens, some goats; a dog, some cats. I'm not a real cat person, but they seem to like me.
With all the flu going around Sam and I have taken some small measures to increase our chances of not getting sick. Vitamin C supplements are dropped into a glass of water like the "Fizzies" of the 1950s.
It was a cold evening last week when I headed upstairs. The kittens were bedded and all the outside animals, plants, and structures were adequately heated. That's when I smelled something like wires burning.
The Prairie is home to a multitude of critters. Some we embrace, some we tolerate, and some, well, are simply intolerable.
The ice princess settled on the Prairie last week. Right off the bat the small pond froze, the one where deer visit, bowing their heads to drink. The goldfish pond froze over as well. Periodically it took a hammer to crack the thick ice to let some air in. After the first day, we covered the pond during the night and cracked ice during the day.
Sam rose early and went downstairs to start the coffeemaker. It has a timer to start itself, but being retired you never know what time you may rise.
Now that Christmas has passed, shopping is done and all the Christmas goodies consumed, it's time to decide if you'll make a 2018 New Year's Resolution.
Last week's meteor shower was all the talk at Robert's Apothecary.
Ah, the sights and sounds of Christmas. Through darkened windows trees alight houses outlined with twinkling lights and some with a yard full of gigantic inflatables.
It was late in the afternoon when Sam and I made our way to the deer stand.
The winds blew in from the southwest, taking plenty of leaves with them. Just when you think you have the porch swept clean, here they come again. The Japanese persimmons hang on a leafless tree. The fruit has a transparency to it, left behind by the early morning frost.
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