Sprigs of green wheat push up through dry Kansas soil.
Puffs of fine dust swirl where our feet meet with dry Kansas farm ground. “Mom, it’s like we’re living in the desert.” She’s right. This drought has left our land crackly, where it was once lush. I shake my head in amazement, that such a young child would make such an observation. Then again, the land is really all there is to observe out here. No mature trees, just a house, a red metal shop, and an old, rusty round grain bin turned chicken coop affectionately called “The Tin Man.”
Our homestead juts out of the corner of the field, an odd mixture of old and new. Old house, new foundation, old walls, new siding, old land, new family. On a bright, unseasonably warm February afternoon, the …
When a neighbor gave us a couple of feral kittens, I didn’t have high expectations that they would stick around long. We fed them, let them lounge on our patio furniture, and waited to see if they would “adopt” us. It’s a good think they’re patient. We’ll let you judge from the pictures below whether or not it has worked out. 🙂
She has named this one “Pony.” He’s a very patient kitty.
It’s a good thing these kittens are laid back.
Playing “firefighter” trying to rescue kitty from the tree.
Even Morgan is a fan of the kittens. (They’re not big fans of her.)
We’re working on the term “gentle” with the toddler. Good thing Mena (kitty) is patient.
When my oldest daughter was almost a year old, my husband brought home a unique gift for Mother’s Day. Two rose bushes. One red, and one yellow. At the time, I was flattered, but had no idea just how amazing that gift would turn out to be. While I like yellow and red roses, my favorite is a pink or peach rose. I’m not sure my husband had any idea this would happen, but the two plants, placed several feet apart in our front flower bed, have started to cross pollinate (or something like that). I know nothing about roses, except that I like to look at them and smell them. But somehow, the yellow rose bush has started to produce peach and pinkish roses, even some yellow roses with red spots. They’re gorgeous, absolutely …
This weekend marks my little hometown’s annual Fall Festival. This year’s theme is “Hillbilly Heaven,” so naturally everyone dressed in their hillbilliest duds (think overalls, rope belts, pigtails, oversized boots, cutoff plaid shirts). I shouldn’t have told you the theme, so you would just think we’re really this redneck. I mean, we are, but we typically don’t dress this bad (or good, however you look at it). I snapped a few pics from my sister’s yard, our standard parade-watching seats. My older daughter actually got to ride on a float in the parade with her preschool class, while my younger daughter watched the parade rather unimpressed from her stroller. (We had to put her on “lockdown” since she kept running out into the road.) There are some strange and wonderful things at a small-town parade. …
Father-daughter bonding time includes watching daddy prep for deer season. She was completely mesmerized.
“I launched my new blog today,” I told my husband excitedly when he came in the door from work. “Oh, good,” he said, mustering as much enthusiasm as he could. (Bless his heart, he’s a wonderful husband, but his world doesn’t exactly overlap with my world of online publishing.) Then, I saw a sparkle in his eyes. One that made my heart jump a little, hopeful that he was finally getting just as giddy as I am about this new web venture. “Guess what else happens today?”, he asked. “Deer season starts,” he said in a singsong voice.
Oh…that…
That time of year when virtually nothing, except his day job, can keep him from his deer stand. Not his loving wife and not …