There's no reason under the sun the ducks should have survived this long, but there they are, waddling as fast as they can toward the house.
For Father's Day I gave Sam four white buckets and some blue cargo shorts. When I bought the buckets, a lady in the parking lot rolled her window down and hollered, "Those are fishing buckets! Wish I was fishing!"
Looks like we're into snake season. I've seen more snakes in the past few weeks than I've seen in the last decade, or maybe ever.
I was sitting on the porch and staring at the cat in my lap when the phone rang.
Just the holiday leftovers included three bags of Scoops, a 46-ounce container of cashews, a bag of Skinny Popcorn, a half-indulged container of coffee and cookies ice cream and half a bag of empty Coke cans.
Across the field above the sedge was a dark shadow. I thought it a squirrel and continued to watch the shadow as it rose higher and higher above the blowing grass.
Among gardens, garden centers, statuaries and yard art, the stone figure of a monk gently holding a bird in open hand is sometimes found. The statue of the robed monk is St. Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals and ecology. But what of the monk who holds a spade?
This time of year I find it hard to do anything but work in the yard.
Remember when "the birds and the bees" was a euphemism for the "facts of life" which was a euphemism for sex?
With my own eyes I saw the carpenter bee wiggle into a hole in the wall right beside the recycle bin.
I suspected Jane Goodall was dead, only to discover she is very much alive and, on April 3, celebrated her 81st birthday.
Jack Henry, Jack for short, is my cat, and he's finally given up trying to force himself on top of my laptop computer.
A few weeks ago I looked out the window only to see the earth moving. Then out from under the fallen oak leaves scattered across the field, hundreds of robins popped forth, foraging for worms. Robins move ahead of warm fronts, and the rains had made the ground soft, easier for digging worms.
A couple of weeks ago I took a short drive from the Prairie, and a disturbing thing happened. I've pondered it ever since.
For the second time in a week the ground was covered with snow and ice. The first storm left mounds of snow covering outbuildings, vehicles and piling right up to the lake water's edge. The pristine snow made the white ducks look dingy.
On days when fishing is out of the question and the 24/7 news has taken its circuitous route about dozen times and the SEC channel is showing decades-old football games, Sam opens a book.
As the days grow longer and the sun shines warmer and the occasional temperatures tip 70 degrees, a retired man's fancy turns to fishing.
It was an early, frosty morning and a lone deer fed in the field. You have to wonder why it nibbled at the cold, dead grass. Soon, another joined it and then another. In the distance they looked like shadows on the pale, icy ground.
"It's a small house, a fixer-upper. Could you be happy there until we can build our own?" The young man had his concerns.
Someone or something was disconnecting the battery wires on the deer feeder. Checking the canister there was plenty of corn but no power. This was the second time in a week.
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