Picture Perfect

What a beautiful day!
The guys (Syd and our friend Dennis) got lots done today around the house.  Still plenty to do before Winter sets in.  Days like this put Winter very far from our minds.  It's when there's that nip in the air ~ that's what reminds us that it's just around the corner.  No "nip" today though.

We are so thankful for friends like Dottie and Dennis who come to encourage and lend a BIG hand to help.  They've helped up at Mom and Dad's place SO much also...big THANKS to them.  We praise the Lord for their friendship.

While the guys worked, Dottie, Mom, Ruger and I dubbed off.  Of course, we fed the men some lunch first.  We took pictures, sat on the porch, sipped coffee, went walking, took more pictures, picked up apples, more pictures.  It was a picture-perfect day.  Here's a shot of the three of us up at Mom's.  We set the camera, rather tipsily, on a chair and used the self-timer.  Had a lot of fun at our photo shoot. I played the part of bossy-photographer, though it was Dottie's camera.

The apples are abundant this year.  Dottie stuffed her camera bag to take home for applesauce.  We tried several varieties as we took our walk through the woods.  I didn't have my camera, so won't share all of her pictures (just couldn't resist using this one).  She got some beauties and we loaded them onto my computer to check them out.  I'll let her post them on her blog.  You do check out Dottie's blog, don't you? It's at allthingshomespun.blogspot.com  She does such beautiful writing.

I must just sit and write one of these days soon.  Perhaps this afternoon my brand  new back porch would be a good place to start.  I believe I hear the rocking chair calling.
Enjoy your weekend, all.

Gardening and Strolling

It's a perfect Fall day on Darling Hill.  There were projects awaiting me that have been hanging around for quite some time, set aside for a day just like this!  Our friends, Dennis & Dottie, brought me some nice sunflower heads that are FULL of seed.  I hung them on the little trellises that I have in the garden.

The tomatoes were more than ready to be uprooted and cages to fold and put away till next year.  Many green tomatoes were given to my niece, Anna, who is looking forward to trying "fried green tomatoes" and the rest are ripening on my kitchen windowsill.

I just couldn't bear to take out all the squash plants yet though.  I'd picked most all of them the other day because we've had 32 degrees for two nights.  Evidently the squash plant likes the cold.  This picture shows the beautiful buds opening up to enjoy the warm, sunny day as much as I.  It was a choice of either ripping them up from the roots or death by freezing within the next couple nights; I chose the latter.  They just looked way too happy to pull up yet!

Ruger and I went to Mom's, as he was chomping at the bit for a walk with her!  We took a long walk down the entire lane and back.  When we returned to our house, Mom helped us with a little yard work.  I attempted to plant the hydrangea plant our friends brought, but broke the shovel in the process.   We stopped and had coffee instead!  ~sat outside, of course.

The sky today was indescribably blue; though I just described it, I guess.  As we sat and sipped, we talked about the breeze that blew through the maple leaves above;  Discussed why the birdhouse was not inhabited this year.  I told her the story about the little fellow who sits in the corner of the garden (see him in the first picture?).  Mom made mention several times how much she loves his little smiling face.  There is a wonderful story behind him.  I'll tell you one day.

As we were walking Mom home I stopped to take a picture of these tree cousins.  They will be the subject of a future poem.  I have noticed them often and love seeing the white and yellow birch who have grown up together.  Ruger chased squirrels and tried his hardest to get into a two-inch hole in the butternut tree, into which his query had just disappeared.  As hard as he scratched and bit, he just couldn't squeeze in!

It's time to start a little supper, as I believe I hear my hubby's truck pulling up.  We are looking forward to more perfect days over the weekend.  It's the most beautiful time of the year!  Take care, all.

A Mom to Remember

I just called Mom and she said that she and Ruger were just "chattering" about his dog treats.  Evidently he wanted a few more than Grammy was handing out.  We are so blessed to have Mom. She is a joy and finds joy in her Lord and in everyday life. 

Growing up, we spent many hours on walks, especially in the woods.  We seldom left the house without a baggie or some container with which to deposit our "finds".  Almost every woods walk ended with the wildflower book open, identifying an unknown specimin.  To this day, you will often see one or the other of us carrying a small sprig of flowered greenery in the back door.  Though the house has changed, that same wildflower book is on the same bookshelf that it's rested on for all these years.

I was always thankful that Mom taught me kindergarten.  When I started the first grade I was already reading fluently, while some of my classmates were just learning to sound out words.  This is not to boast, but I would not have traded that year for a classroom surrounded by many peers.  During our lunchtime we would pack a picnic basket and take it up to Connif's field or even just up on the back lawn.  Sometimes we would simply open a can of Vienna sausages (we could only eat these when Dad was at work, therefore it was like our little secret - he could not stand even the SMELL of them!) and eat them on the porch swing (yes, the SAME porchswing) while we watched the cars go by. 

Seldom did a day pass (remembering back on my entire childhood prior to starting school) that we did not meet one or another neighbor for a walk.  It was so routine that I grew up thinking that it was a daily requirement!  Anyone who knows Mom, knows that for her, it still IS! 


Which brings us back to she and Ruger.  I left them as they were heading out for their walk in the woods.  "He always helps me clean up the sticks", she'll say.  I can imagine he takes many more sticks OFF the pile than he ever would chance to put on, but they're together, and that's what counts.

I hope you all have a fine Fall day.  The forecaster promised us sun by the afternoon.  We'll take what the Lord sends!

Of Mists and Morning

A quiet morning; a cup of coffee sits on the table; like an old friend, awaiting my occasional attention.

The open Bible; words springing from its pages, speaking to my heart and soul.

The rain's rhythmic plinking against the tin roof subdues even the misty glow outside the window, making it feel like the house is enveloped within a clock, sitting upon the huge mantle of life.
"Tick, tock...tick, tock"; it leads one to retreat to a chair in the corner with a book and warm mohair throw.

But morning still calls...calling more heartily now.  It knows that the easy chair is waiting; a mohair folded on its arm.

The coffee finished; the Bible returned to its place until the evening. 
"There are those dishes",calls morning.
My foot now taps to a new tune of rain plinking against the pane before the sink.

Teach Us to Number our Days

They say that "a picture paints a thousand words".  This shot paints a poem of Fall on Darling Hill.  A walk through the leaves and a spring in the step! ...in both their steps!  I think that Ruger looks like a big black rabbit here!

Each time we walk up our lane, the carpet of orange and gold becomes more lush and the trees more sparse, allowing sunlight to filter through and sprinkle the way with countless specks of gold.   Here and there a bright green or yellow leaf is illuminated and resembles a piece of phosphorous that glows alongside the unlit road on a dark night stroll. 

This is a season of senses being awakened.  The Summer heat is behind and crisp breezes carry a woodsy, perfumed scent that only Autumn affords.   Enjoy it; these days are numbered.  It seems that this is the most fleeting stretch of weeks throughout the entire year. 

The Bible says, "so teach us to number our days; that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom."  Moreso than Autumn, all of our days are numbered.  The believer is to be guided by and used of God every day of his or her life.  Like the spicy scent of this wonderful time of year, our prayers and sacrifices should be a sweet savor in the Lord's nostrils. 

On Darling Hill, the extent of our physical walks are always in the confines of the property.  In our walk of life, the Lord launches us out into the world.  We touch others lives daily, by way of words, in a look or by an action.

Lord, may we be atune to your Word and your leading, applying our hearts unto wisdom, so that your Son can shine through us and strew sundrops to light another's path today.  And may this prayer be answered so that you, not we, will be glorified.

Songs in Late Summer

During lunchbreak yesterday I traveled up the hill to see mom, make a little lunch to eat with her and to drop off the big black kid who stays with us.  He was so excited that his eyes shone and he wiggled with delight, all four feet prancing on the driveway.  Ruger always does this at the mention of his favorite person, Grammy!  He does love her, obvious by the way he approaches and leans against her legs (so she can better pet him), but I often think that it is partly because the words "Grammy" and "walk" are so often used together.  When we leave our house to see her in the evening, we are usually going for a walk, and when Ruger meets her in the yard she is either returning from or getting ready to go for a walk, which Ruger invites himself to join in on, of course!

After getting our lunch together, Mom and I sat on the swing watching the leaves turn color.  At any given point we could count at least two flitting butterflies, seeming to search for just one live clover head, and often flying by, as if on a mission.  Mom said, "I wonder where they're going in such a hurry".  We watched the jets fly over, leaving their tell-tale stream of white which eventually would become one of the many long and straight clouds that we saw streaked above the horizon.  A large gaggle of geese honked their way South to escape the impending Winter that still seems distant on a beautiful day as this (I must say, this would just be too many things to see in one sitting; we did not actually see the geese fly through until 6:30 that evening, on our walk to see Grammy.  I add it now, only for effect!).  The young maple just off the porch seemed to be turning redder before our eyes as Mom spoke, "I hate to see the leaves changing so quickly.  The summer sure has flown by, like these butterflies and that jet." (And the geese, I might add).

I wonder, sometimes. why the end of Summer lays so heavily on my heart.  I hate to think that it is because I am getting weary of Winter and the heavy snows that will soon be upon us.  I absolutely love the bright sun on white and the cold air that freezes around my nostrils on those frigid days of January.  Still, something seems lost when all the leaves turn and fall to the ground, and I find myself almost dreading the dying of Summer and then Fall.  I sensed this in Mom's voice yesterday and it made me realize that it happens to the best of us (as, she IS the best!)  As a believer, I have everything to look forward to.  Every day is put before me for a reason and brings a new adventure and opportunity to the path.  

While these thoughts flew through my mind, the deafening sound of a cricket under the porch broke through, when Mom (always in tune with any spark of nature) exclaimed, "Hear that cricket.  She has not stopped singing since we have been out here."  I realized then that I had been hearing her for months. She lives down there and just sings her heart out ALL the time, though, thankfully she does sleep at night.   

The cricket was a reminder to me that this is just what we are supposed to be doing!  The coming Winter does not hinder the individual who knows that they are in the environment that the Lord has created them to be.  I am in this place for a reason and it is exactly where the Lord wants me, so I  am to be singing constantly for Him, no matter what lies in the future.

I hope that these beautiful Autumn days are as much a joy to you as they are to me.  May the Lord use everything around us to point to Him.  Have a great day.

A Hundred Miles to the Sea

The sky is gray-white, peeking between leaves turning from their Summer green to gold and russet.  The steady raindrops fall from leaf to leaf; from tree to tree; seeping, finally into the waterlogged floor under my feet.  These waters gently cascade like a fountain, stirring the spirit to relaxation. Somewhere beneath the earth streams are flowing and escaping by way of springs, taking these very droplets to the nearest rivulet, on to stream and brook; then a mighty river carries them a hundred miles to the sea.  I wonder how many raindrops have gathered to create this ribbon of water flowing past my shoes.  A tiny river, it falls over broken shards of stone as if, to that ant, it were cascading waterfalls roaring down a mountain pass.

A rock affords itself, appearing from under a cropping of ferns.  The damp surface and mossy face send up a scent that hangs heavy in the air.  Our name is written beneath this very stone; beneath the many rocks that are buried deep in this land.  Perhaps here is where my grandfather paused; taking his rest from the heavy weight of the axe.  My young mother crouched, waiting for the cows to finish getting refreshment from the nearby brook on their return trip to the barn as the late afternoon sun sank behind the trees.   The stones that lay about are the offspring of others that unearthed in long-forgotten days.  These now rest; piled in a staggering line that runs the entire length of the property.  The walls remain; a testimonial to long-forgotten days.

These large trees were only saplings then.  Their bark scarred by barbed wire and even a granite post can be seen growing from the side of some.  If we could hear their voices, the story would thrill and reveal more rich history than has already been handed down to us.  We would know of the cow that bore her young in this cove of evergreens; or of the hay wagon that overturned on that embankment.  They might tell of children who were camped here, in a temporary attempt at leaving the warmth of their own homes.

I step into a wide opening and stand before a small stone memorial of a tiny baby who's body was laid to rest here.   This has been kept clear; as a sanctuary among the heavy tree-cover.  Its contrast to the dark woods makes one think that they are in a wide open field.  The sun streams down and lights the spot.  I suppose that is why this special family member has kept it so.   There are no marking on the stone; no name or date etched into its surface but being here, one knows that it is a place set apart.   I love to come here and see the large opening to the sky, so far above; and to think of the life of this little one who never saw the light of day on earth, but knows the glory of heaven.

It is quieter  now; only the steady raindrops fall from leaf to leaf; from tree to tree...eventually a mighty river carries them a hundred miles, to the sea.