April 2013 in Mad’ville

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Spring bloomsOn a recent walk with Reagan, I noticed the robins chirping and doves cooing, a morning salutation I’ve come to love. Spring is in the air. I heard it.

But it’s not here fast enough.

It’s the nineteenth month here in Mad’ville and some days it seems like Florida was just a dream. I walk around the cul-de-sac in the mornings with Reagan and admire the early signs of spring-yellow bursts out from the browns and grey tones of the landscape-forsythia, daffodils and buttercups. Yet some days, I can’t stop comparing my new digs (yes, still feels like new) to the lush and vivid landscape of Florida, my home for twenty-four years, especially the last three with Elvis, which felt like a fairy-tale. Florida is picture-perfect postcard material: twenty shades of palm-tree-green, homes dyed Easter egg colors with white picket fences and latticed-covered gates, covered in climbing, clinging, vibrant purple, pink, and orange bougainvillea. Turquoise water, water, water, everywhere.

Daffodill in SpringThe first weekend of April arrived and Spring tagged along. Finally. On this early morning walk, I notice the cherry trees budding pale pink and white flowers. Crimsoned red buds pop on a tall tree that I haven’t identified yet, probably a scarlet oak. It is peaceful here, with the exception of the rambunctious squirrels that chase each other up, down, and around the hickories, their tiny claws on the bark sound like an old-fashioned typewriter.

Spring is late to arrive this year and I yearn for green. Any green will do. The trees have been bare long enough. We’ve had a mild winter, relatively speaking. Not as mild as 2012, but certainly less than most of the country. Mad’ville is tucked in the corner of Western Kentucky, far enough south we don’t get the frigid white blizzards from the Great Lakes, and east enough we don’t get the mess from the Mid-West.

Foyer arrangements So eager for spring to arrive, three weeks ago, after a blustery wind storm, I created two arrangements for the outside foyer using the river birch branches I’d picked up from the lawn. I added a few silk stems, pea rock, a glass vase, and a clay urn. Martha Stewart I’m not, but this little crafty-thingy was the perfect pick-me-up.

Foyer arrangements 2013Days passed. Secure in my thinking that the last frost was over for the year, I headed outdoors. I hung two hummingbird feeders, patiently waiting for the return of the ruby-throated hummers. Once I spot the first one, I’ll hang the other feeders. No sense getting the ants in a feeding frenzy until the birds show up.

I spray-painted the passionflower trellis and fake turtles black. Maybe went overboard spraying the turtles, but a fresh coat of paint, even black, looks better than last year’s tired-looking yard decorations. I also planted dahlias, Oriental lilies, and starburst bulbs. Tomorrow I’ll plant the petunias (another lure for the hummers), more lilies and starburst. Then I’ll pray for rain.

I bought a tulip-daffodil combo arrangement at Lowe’s and after I consulted Google (what did we do before she came into our lives?) I was unaware tulips are planted in Fall. Another reason it was wicked cheap.

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ReaganReagan (who is not happy I’m snapping a picture of him in this shot) is giving us a bit of a scare. He’s been diagnosed with an enlarged heart. And come to find out, dogs don’t have heart attacks, their hearts just grow until they stop. So heart medicine it is and a little more anti-anxiety meds to keep him calm. Ha. As if any fox terrier is ever calm.

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Mustard glazed sockeye salmonOn other fronts, my salmon ebook manuscript is finished. I’m now interviewing prospective programmer’s with hope to find someone reputable and inexpensive (is there such a person?) to convert the file. I’m already considering the next two species and researching companies from which to procure product. Alaska Seafood and Copper River Salmon have been very generous supplying me with product, and I am grateful and blessed to work with two respectable organizations.

I landed a food column in a small local newspaper. Yes, in print. My focus will be farms, farmer’s, farmer’s markets, and CSA’s. I’ve prepared a rough editorial calendar for the publisher whom I meet next week. More details to follow next month.

More news about next month. I’m invited to the Sustainable Foods Institute at Monterey Bay Aquarium, on a full media scholarship. Three days of panel discussion, lectures, meet and greets. I can hardly contain myself. I contacted Edible Orlando magazine with a few ideas for its fall and winter issues. And my brain is percolating with ideas for more stories and submissions. I feel like my window has opened up a bit. I love the feeling. I’m hungry for more.

ReaganElvis is awesome. As always. He reminds me when I get too serious (the Irish in me) with a joke or a little tease, always with a poker face. And I’m learning not to take it literally, that he is simply much better at blowing off the minutia of life than I am. Oh, I have a new nickname, “Country Girl,” because I’m beginning to get the hang of getting up at the crack of dawn to see the critters in the woods, or something along those lines.

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I’m saving so much money living here, just by not wearing makeup! What a simple joy. Of course it helps I work from home. Naturally I wear lipstick and mascara for outings-the Mad’ville Police functions, dinner dates, and such, but really, to live a simple country life without eyeliner, blush, and powder, is damn good.

And although I occasionally wax poetic about Florida-the lifestyle, the food, and most important, our friends-I’m okay here, ‘cause I know better things are on the horizon. In fact, I’m foraging for morels next weekend. On our property. How lucky can a country girl get?

ForsythaDrop me a line, let me know what you’re planting or foraging this Spring, or if you’re just here to read and catch up, until next month, happy Spring!

M

March 2013 in Mad’ville

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Birds March 2013 029 (800x760)Eighteen months in Mad’ville already. Where does the time go?

After an exhausting Saturday morning fighting with weeds, the rake, and the wheel barrel, it’s nice to relax this Sunday morning. Elvis spent the day with the lawn mower and the blower, and he too, is looking forward to a day of chilling.

An early morning rain drenched the freshly tilled ground, and the grass, manicured and dewy, looks like the color of green in the Emerald City in the Wizard of Oz. Rows of barren hickories, poplars, and oaks stretch in front of me until the horizon becomes a blur of forest. Elms are dotted through the woods, full with last year’s leaves, a shade that reminds me of the color of macaroni and cheese, creating a luminescent glow in the otherwise staid cluster of trees. We’re curious about this phenomenon and don’t recall seeing the leaves like this last year. The other trees have begun to bud with this year’s growth.

Hmm, global warming?

gray squirrelGray squirrels roam across the blanket of leaves on the ground in the woods and in the yard, smart enough to not get too far away from that fence, just out of Reagan’s reach (lots of barking going on here), up and down the cedars and pines, foraging for acorns, sometimes pilfering from the bird feeder. Blue Jays, cardinals, mourning doves and one feisty red-bellied woodpecker flit in and around the feeder that Elvis filled moments ago. Dark-eyed juncos and robins hop around the lawn, picking at the earth for worms.

Who knew I would become a birder?

house finchI changed the lens on the camera to the 70-300 mm  lens this morning and was fortunate to get a few shots of this house finch, eager to dry out a bit on the window sill. I hope to spot the cream-colored bird we saw yesterday afternoon. It was the first of its kind, maybe an albino? Strange that it flew with the cowbirds and the red-winged blackbirds. Today as I write and read, I’ve got one eye on the keyboard the other on the forest.

I’ve been ready for Spring for about a month now. This was a cold winter, and I rarely left the house, with the exception to shop for groceries and to attend the monthly meetings with the Citizen Police Alumni (CPA). I volunteered for crowd control for the Christmas parade, informally known as a candy-kicker because we kicked the candy that was thrown from the floats to the curb, so the kids don’t run into the street. Did you know that it is always the same kids that don’t want to stay behind the line?

I think I might have been one of those kids once upon a time. You too?

I volunteered for Shop with a Cop where each officer, or CPA, takes a family through the aisles of Wal-Mart with a preset amount of cash to buy clothes and one gift. I had thirteen-year-old twins, a boy, and a girl. They were so grateful and well behaved. It tore me up and I felt blessed to be part of that one.

Then I volunteered for Feed a Cop (notice a theme here?) I cooked a crockpot of Italian bean soupItalian Sausage and Bean soup. Elvis was kind enough to say, “Not your best.”

So I baked a banana-blueberry bread too in case they had thoughts like Elvis.

Nobody can resist my baked fruit breads.

 

At that gathering, I received my official CPA badge. Sgt. Carter used my Kentucky driver’s license photo for the ID card . Believe me when I tell you I look like I could be cast in the movie Deliverance.

As we wait for warmer weather, and less rain, I plug away at my stories. I just finished an advanced memoir class and registered for another this spring. I completed the first five chapters of my food memoir, Handcuffs, Hurricanes, Pepper Spray and Scrambled Eggs: an unexpected culinary adventure.

Salmon sushi I’m rewriting the salmon ebook, (and rolling sushi) and sending off short stories and memoir pieces to magazines, eager to either get published or rejected. Hopeful that I’ll get some response, even if it’s an auto-generated out-of-office reply. We writers are anxious, needy types.

Can’t blame that one on global warming.

I’m already planning my first excursion into the woods to forage for morel mushrooms. Rumor has it, cause nobody gives up their morel mushroom sites, morels should start popping up mid-April. Web sites give predictions and clues about where, when, and how to find these babies. Again, there’s no definitive scoop. It’s a mystery. Here’s what I’ve gathered thus far, pre-forage.

I’m to wait for a few days of rain followed by a bright sunny day sometime between mid-April and mid-May. Bring a walking stick (to scare off snakes while I rummage through piles of dead leaves) and an onion bag to collect and carry the ‘shrooms. Sites to look are somewhere near a spring. Possibly under dead elms, and/or live elms. Maybe under poplars. See what I mean? Wear tick repellent and thick protective clothing. Chances are that I’ll not spot one morel this year, because, well, that’s just the way things go.

Carolina Chickadee

Sounds exciting, right?

Okay, even if you don’t think so, I’m going. But with global warming and all, I might just get a jump on it and go after the rain stops this week. Just don’t expect to see photos of my sites next month.

Until then,

Happy Spring!

For the birds

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2013 celebrates our second winter in Mad’ville.

I adjusted to this simple, country lifestyle pretty well as you might be able to tell.

As it turns out, I’m somewhat of an amateur naturalist. I’ve identified over forty birds in our woods and fifteen tree species. I can spot deer rubs, bobcat scratches, can tell the difference between a coyote and gray fox, can identify a jake, hen, and tom. I’m getting sharper at target practice. There might even be a turkey hunt in my future. And lastly, I hope to find fresh morel mushrooms under the poplars this Spring.

But mostly, I love to watch the birds.

So this month, like last month, I’m dedicating my blog post to the birds. See you next month. :)

Cooper's Hawk

Cooper’s Hawk

Red-bellied woodpecker

Red-bellied woodpecker

Carolina chickadee

Carolina chickadee

Northern Cardinal

Northern Cardinal

Northern Flickers

Northern Flickers

 

Goldfinches

Goldfinches

Common vulture

Common vulture

What have you been doing this February?

Birding, a walk in the woods and other pithy Friday thoughts

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American Goldfinch and Hairy Woodpecker If someone would have told me that one warm, winter morning in 2013, (when I was fifty-one years old,) I’d be perched twenty-feet up in a deer blind, with a 70-300 mm camera lens,  in the middle of the woods, in Western Kentucky, I would have laughed. Maybe even wondered what they had been smoking.

But that’s just where I found myself this Friday morning.

White-Breasted NuthatchLet me back up a few days.

Eleven days ago, I started treatment for the basal skin cancer on my chest. And I mean my whole chest. I’ve been house-bound for several days. I’m not allowed in the sun. No big deal. I’d abused my sun privileges for the last several decades, and my skin issue is a result of such.

Red-Breasted NuthatchNot that I’d want to go out and socialize anyway. My chest skin has several clusters of cherry-apple red, angry-looking, soon-to-be blisters. Any material I cover the area with, is itchy. I’m to avoid scratching at all costs.

Every morning, I apply a thick white cream to the area, then within seconds, my eyes begin to water, and then within a few hours, my stomach hurts and I feel queasy. I’m tired. Not sleepy tired, just a nagging lethargy. I’ve developed a canker sore on the inside of my lip which looks as though Elvis popped me in the mouth. Yes, I’m sure you’re glad I mentioned that one.

Eleven days down, thirty-one to go.

American GoldfinchI’ve found ways to relax with pilates and yoga. I’m busy with my writing projects, and cooking.

But as you might imagine, I just want the whole thing to be over.

You might think that a glass or two of red wine every evening would be just what I need. Hmm…have you ever sipped red wine through a straw?

I’d tried to mentally prepare myself months ago when I was prescribed the medicine. I knew the cold (ha!) winter months would be the perfect time to do this. After all, I had the same treatment on my face a few years ago. I was aware of the repercussions. It was as painful and ugly then, too.

Tufted TitmouseSo when I woke this morning, I felt refreshed for the first time since I began this treatment. Oh, if I could bottle that feeling.

At 7:30 a.m., the temperature was on its was towards sixty degrees. The 2:00 a.m. rainstorm had saturated the ground. The leaves and grass sparkled in the early morning sunlight.

I gazed out through the glass-paneled front door and loved the way water glistened on the bare limbs of the Japanese maple tree.

I got the camera, laced up my new UGG hiking boots, and walked out into the somewhat balmy morning for some fresh air and a walk in the woods (where there is limited sunshine).

Carolina ChickadeeThe birds were hungry and focused on the feeder. They didn’t seem to mind my presence. So I’d leaned up against the hickory tree and waited.

After a few shots, I decided to venture into the woods. It’s about the time the pileated woodpecker comes around and I thought I might spot a few deer or the wild turkey. I went back to the house for my walking stick and my florescent orange baseball cap. One can never be too careful here.

Reagan As I climbed the ladder to the deer blind, I realized this was the first time I’d been in the woods without Elvis and Reagan. I missed their company, especially if the damn deer blind wasn’t secure to the tree. Once I got my ass firmly planted on the grated seat of the blind, my heart settled.

I’m a little nervous of heights, btw.

Within a few seconds, the birds twittered and chirped, elms leaves fluttered in the breeze, and the swift-moving clouds above, grounded me.

Hairy WoodpeckerSuddenly, the tree and deer blind swayed. A dizzying thought surfaced and I wondered if I fell, how long would it take Elvis to find me? I didn’t tell him I was going into the woods. Tiny electric currents shot through my chest and down my legs. When I realized it was just the wind, I calmed myself with a few deep breaths, and instead of climbing down the ladder, I’d stayed and enjoyed the peaceful moment.

Then just like that, dark clouds filled the sky, and the moment, and the sunlight were gone.

American GoldfinchesAs I walked back to the house, I caught the scent of a skunk and was relieved I didn’t have Reagan with me after all, as he undoubtedly would have found the source.

Days like this are a gentle reminder to take our moments when we can.

I’m happy for the unusually warm weather. I’m happy that I’d spotted my first Red-Breasted Nuthatch this morning, making it the thirty-ninth species of bird I’ve identified since I moved to Mad’ville.

Now I know where I’ll go to count birds for the 2013 Great Backyard Bird Count in February.

Weather permitting of course.

Until next time,

M

Christmas in Kentucky 2012

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Christmas tree w Reagan 2012 001 (387x640)It’s December 14th. Larry is storing the outside patio furniture.

I’m inside. Watching.

It’s officially winter here in Mad’ville.

What that means:

We’re learning to compromise the temperature settings in the house.

Me-70 degrees. Elvis- no heat.

We’re deciding on a shared household Christmas gift.

Me-television for the sitting room for weekends during football season. Elvis-propane heater for the outside patio, then after football season, the television for the bedroom.

We discuss day trips for a weekend drive.

Me-to Paducah, KY for the National Quilt Museum. Elvis-Florida.

Okay, I gotta admit, I’m liking the Florida idea more and more.

It’s cold here.

As the new year approaches, we’re already looking forward to the longer days and the warmer weather. Yet, we stay grounded in the now, as we watch the deer and birds return to forage on the corn feed and seed, and walk Reagan around the cul-de-sac.

Me-rarely. Elvis-mostly.

Until next year,

Merry, Berry Christmas!

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On being grateful

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Thanksgiving.

Family, prayers.

Cooking, eating, drinking.

Undeniably fun, yet stressful.

Gratitude.

This holiday, Larry and I shared Thanksgiving alone. Well, okay, Reagan, too.

No kids, in-laws, family or friends, although we spoke to a few loved ones across the miles via text and phone calls.

Still, it took two full days to prepare “the feast.”

Since food blogging and food, in general, have become a national obsession, making Thanksgiving has taken on Olympic proportions. Since I’m all about food, it made creating this years Thanksgiving menu somewhat interesting.

The choices for what to serve and how to prepare “the feast,” are like a marathon. They go on and on and on.

Dry brine or wet brine. Stuffing or dressing. Mashed sweet potatoes or casserole. Turkey or ham. White wine or red. Pumpkin pie or torte. Red bliss or Yukon Gold.

Since it was just us, I streamlined the menu and opted-out on casseroles, sweet potatoes, cranberry relish, stuffing, or dressing.

Here’s what I came up with.

Crab & artichoke dip appetizer served with Riesling & Chardonnay

Frisee & red leaf lettuces with pickled baby beets, goat cheese & pomegranate vinaigrette

Dry brine turkey with classic giblet gravy

Cauliflower puree with umami butter

Roasted green beans with toasted walnuts

Summer sweet corn bread

Bourbon chocolate-pecan pie

Pumpkin pie with bourbon whipped cream

Champagne

Although we missed our loved ones, after “the feast,” we were relieved to sit on the couch, just us, in our jammies, content to channel surf, doze, and  rub our bloated bellies.

I’m grateful for so many things this year. Our beautiful home, our health, and our families and friends.

Mostly, I’m grateful for having Elvis, and our first Thanksgiving alone.

But next year, I think I’ll make reservations.

Mentions: Find my recipes for Pomegranate Vinaigrette and Crab and Artichoke Dip at Cuisine by Maureen and SeafoodLady. My menu would not have been a success without the help of other chefs and bloggers. A special thanks goes to out to the following: Dry brine turkey courtesy Russ Parsons LA Times on CHOW.com. Classic Giblet gravy courtesy Food Republic’s Jared Levan. Pie crust courtesy Food52 lapadia. Bourbon chocolate-pecan pie courtesy Food Network’s Tyler Florence. Bourbon whipped cream courtesy bon appetit & Suzzane Goin.

It’s already November?

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Today is November 1st. Already.

I missed posting here at HBH last month. You know, life gets in the way sometimes.

So here’s October, in a glance, in photos and quips.

“Hurry up, let’s go. I smell deer poop!”

It’s good to get a fresh perspective on things.

Color my world in pastels.

Arches

“I have a BIG stick, watch out!”

“Okay, but I have a BIG gun. Ha ha!”

Bud and bloom, a knock-out rose love story.

The view from the front door.

Hickory hiding the sun.

Afternoon shadows.

A study in trees.

 The colors of October.

Hydrangea in fall.

Our favorite pines.

Silk trees turn blue most mornings.

The setting sun lights up the last hickory with full foliage.

It’s our one year anniversary at HummingbirdHills

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It’s late September and we’ve been in Mad’ville for one year.

We’ve had lots of “first’s” here.

It’s been a dry, hot summer. Officially declared “severe drought,” by the weathermen. For the first time, they got it right.

We spent extra time feeding the birds and watering the lawn, and as a result, we had the largest water bill in history.

But the birds are happy, and the grass is filling in where it was patchy and full of weeds, just one year ago.

I’ve identified thirty-three species of birds in our backyard, and sixteen tree species in our woods. Yes, I’m cataloging the lists, and the lists will have their own pages here sometime in the future.

I’ll bet you can’t wait.

The hummingbirds have been swarming at the three feeders, some call it “hummer warz,” getting ready for their migration south. Had I known last year at this time about the habits of these precious little birds, I would have hung an extra feeder to help them on their way. As it was, we were delighted all summer long watching the dominant alpha males protect their turf and the petite females sneak in for quick sips.

Most of the birds are gone and since this is our first year here, I don’t know many more bird patterns.

Or maybe it’s because we were gone for a few weeks and weren’t able to feed them.

Sadly, any bird feed left, would have been devoured by the raccoons, so we left the bird houses empty, with the exception of the sugar-water for the hummers.

I noticed a flock of grackle yesterday afternoon when the sun was at its warmest, flying in and out of the dogwoods picking at the red fruit. Their brilliant midnight blue-black feathers glistened in the sun. The limbs of the dogwoods are heavy with tiny red berries, and are drooping from the weight of the fruit. The leaves are a blend of red-and-green, reminding me of Christmas somehow.

These small colorful dogwood trees are scattered throughout our woods.

They’re the same trees that light up the woods in the spring, when they sport ultra-white, ghost-like blooms.The only other color in spring is pinkish-purple blooms of the lone forest pansy in the yard.

Now the forest pansy has a somewhat tired look. Its leaves yellowing, its long pods, brown and brittle.

A few weeks ago, just before our trip, we had a cold snap, our first sign of summer’s end, and flocks of gold finch were feeding on the oaks. Their swift, ballet-like flight in and out of the trees was the first I’ve seen. The back door was open and their chirping melody drew my eyes up and away from my work.

Just another one of the magically things I love about living at HummingBirdHills.

We have late-summer pink and red knock-off roses, but they have no smell. They sure are a pretty, welcome burst of color against the turning fall foliage.

And with the advent of fall, it’s time for mums and squash. And you know how I feel about that.

We had our first vacation. Ten days of sightseeing, relaxing, and on some days, unplugged from the Internet. I’d considered hiding the phone charger the first weekend, but it was only a dream, Elvis still had work to do. We spent three days exploring downtown Seattle, WA, and then all aboard for a seven-day cruise to Alaska. Three days at sea, the third to Tracy Arm, one of the most southern glaciers in Alaska and then on land to Juneau, the most north this trip would take us.

Then off to four ports, Juneau, Sitka, Ketchican and Victoria, BC. It was an amazing trip.

But more on that later, after I edit and organize the pictures.

Some pictures of the trip are on Facebook and a few stories are on SeafoodLady.

My first day back in the office was yesterday, Monday, the twenty-forth. I’d spent a long weekend in Lexington, KY at the Kentucky Women Writers Conference work shopping my memoir/cookbook and meeting new scribblers.

Ideas, stories and food recipes have been percolating in my brain and I have been excited to be productive.

Around noon, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a fury, fire orange-red fox. He followed the line of the fence. Just like I’d seen him two times before. This is the first time I’ve seen him, or her, this year. Maybe it’s his annual migration, too. Such creatures of habit. Each time I’ve seen him, he follows the same path, along the outside fence from the west, across the yard, then up the path and back into the woods to the east. What’s funny is, earlier that morning, I wondered if I’d ever see that fox again.

The good thing about the passage of time for me is the cycle of nature. It has a calming effect and reminds me to be grateful, that things will come around again.

This first year in Mad’ville, I’ve discovered a few cycles that I’ve learned to love.

  • I know that in spring, I can hunt for morels under the populars and elms, and fish for fresh water bass.
  • In summer, I eat farm-fresh tomatoes and corn.
  • If I’m lucky, I’ll find fresh water prawns in the fall.
  • I know when to hang the hummingbird feeders and when to take them down.
  • Soon we’ll light the logs in the fireplace and watch the deer forage for food through the hard-packed ground and snow.
  • These little things, the first things of Mad’ville, make me very happy indeed.

Until next month,

M

Alaska: Ten days and counting

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Today is August 27th.

I’m halfway through my mystery writing class, the Republican National Convention begins today and in ten days we leave for our ten-day trip to Seattle/Alaska.

None of that has anything to do with the other except it’s what’s happening today in my world.

It’s been a long, hot summer here in Mad’ville.

I’ve spent most of it in my quiet air-conditioned office. Elvis comments on occasion that he thinks I’m becoming a hermit. Sigh.

Here at HummingBirdHills, weekends have become synonymous with yard work, movies on Sunday and the occasional day trip.

First town up. Newburgh, Indiana, a small river port town in SW Indiana on the Ohio River.

Newburgh is a charming, historic, walkable community.

It’s streets are lined with antiques shops, book stores, museums and restaurants. Newburgh offers Civil War walking tours, and in summer, The Strawberry Festival and the Fiddlers Festival. Newburgh is home to the elite Victoria National Golf Club, and the famous Castle High School, known for its statewide competitive academic and athletic abilities.

On our recent day-trip, I found a few trinkets in the Old Gentlemens’s Antique Store for my food photography (antique props are the rage these days), a new summer dress, and a few stores to buy one-of-a-kind gifts.

In these little country towns, I often wonder why some restaurants with the best view don’t offer the best food. Sigh.

Nevertheless, we sat on the outside patio of one of the three recommended restaurants, (one down, two to go), enjoyed the cool breeze from the river and rested our feet, while we watched coal barges, the size of small cornfields, navigate up and down the river.

Next up. New Harmony, Indiana, a quaint, charming, historic town in SW Indiana on the Wabash River.

New Harmony is a peaceful, spiritual community.

Established and developed in 1814 by George Rapp, a German Pietist, The Harmonie Society sought religious freedom. They developed a self-reliant community and produced fine goods recognized around the world. New Harmony sold in 1825 to Robert Owen, a wealthy industrialist, and then established as a utopian community. The project failed shortly thereafter, but in the process, it attracted scientists and scholars to the community.

Today, New Harmony is still a tiny, quaint community. Main Street and Church Street are lined with renovated Victorian buildings, log cabins, antique shops, art galleries, coffee shops and humble, friendly, polite people.

We enjoyed brunch at an outdoor restaurant, The Red Geranium, complete with an extensive wine list, white linen napkins and excellent service.

We visited a roofless church, (first for both of us), peered in shop windows and found one-of-a-kind gift stores.

As we wandering down the cherry tree-lined streets, back to the car, we thought we heard the grass growing.

And while I count down the days to Alaska, I’m already envisioning another day trip to New Harmony, (perhaps for Christmas, for its old fashioned Christmas Parade). So if you’re on my gift-giving list, then you know you can expect something unique. Of course it might just be a shot glass from Alaska.

Until next month,

M

Sleepless in Mad’ville

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Two nights ago just as I started dreaming of sugarplums and white sandy beaches, Reagan’s bark startled me awake. The kind of bark that sounds as if there were intruder’s lurking in the shadows of the birch trees near the front entrance. Elvis let Reagan out the front door and two minutes later, he was in full dog-fight mode, his barking and growling getting further from the perimeter of the house, and the warmth of the bed.

Elvis burst into the room a few minutes later, dog-less. Reagan had killed a baby raccoon.

I don’t think I have to mention that we didn’t get solid sleep for the remainder of the night as a direct result of this, but I’ll mention it anyway. But that’s not what this is about.

I blame myself.

Two days prior I’d encouraged Reagan to chase a baby raccoon up a tree (hey he was scaring the birds and eating the food.) I know of course, it’s really not my fault…although, it could be…

I know, I know, I shouldn’t blame myself. Reagan is a dog. A high-strung, wire-hired fox terrier. A breed totally capable, and hell, even bred, to kill critters, mostly fox, not ‘coons. To be honest, I’m surprised we have moles in our landscaped yard. The woods, that’s another story. Bur Reagan knows his boundaries. Most of the time. Instinct and sheer, primal dog-ness often take over.

Me? Well, I guess that’s what this story is about.

I could work on my bossiness and boundaries.

Normally, I’d stay in bed and tell Elvis, with my bossy attitude, how to handle the clean-up-use a garbage bag, put it in the trash bin, leave the dog in the house, blah, blah, blah…gosh that sounds like something I’d get tired of hearing too.

So that morning I had an “instead” kind of morning. At 4:50 a.m., after a tossing-and-turning, sleepless kind-of night, instead of staying in bed, I’d whipped the sheet from the warmth of my body and got up to handle the dog while Elvis cleaned up the ‘coon.

Of course I told him to wear gloves and then I’d continued to suggest I mean, tell, how to pick up the animal. Of course at this point he’d completely ignored me, even though my method-place the opened garbage bag over the dead ‘coon and scoop him up like a pile of dog poop, seemed better than his-pick Rocky Raccoon up by the tail, show the lifeless carcass to the dog, then throw him into the bag. He’d done this twice because the first time ole’ Rocky didn’t quite make the bag. I’d opened my mouth to tell, I mean suggest, my method again, but by the look on his face (the sun rises early these days), Elvis was already in full-blown ignore-me mode.

I’m not stupid, just stubborn. And bossy.

Reagan and I (yes, I’m writing for the dog) watched Elvis toss Rocky into the garbage bin where he’d landed with a solid thwunk and a slam of the lid. Ahh, the finality of it all.

Satisfied, (that would be me,) I’d insisted, several times, that I’d walk the dog-usually Elvis’ thing. Reagan, of course was ready to begin his daily constitution regardless of who held the leash.

We’d walked around the cul-de-sac, the only sounds, my flip flops flapping and his dog tag jiggling. He’d trotted, proudly, marking his territory along the familiar route of the ‘hood until he’d found the perfect spot. Then he’d squatted. Twice. And then with a fresh spring in his step (and a half a pound lighter-I swear,) we’d started the journey back home.

As we’d walked up the path to the house and passed the grassy area of our yard where he’d “mastered his domain” the night before, he began gravitating to the dead-zone, because, after all, he’s a dog. I stopped the leash from expanding and spoke the commands he respects, “no” and “all gone,” and he righted his course to the back door, ready for another day where treats, naps and a day of pure unconditional love rule.

As the saying goes, it’s a dog’s life.

I’d apologized to Elvis for being bossy and told him I’d like to work on my bossiness, and as usual he’d responded with a glib, “you can’t change a tigers’ stripes.”

I’d hugged him and gave him a “yes, dear,” of sorts.

Sigh…I’m trying…

…and I’m sure that won’t be the last critter Reagan sinks his teeth into.

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