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Saturday, Apr. 30, 2016

Brazil Buzz

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

With rushing winds and gloomy skies

The dark and stubborn winter dies:

Far -off, unseen, spring faintly cries,

Bidding her earliest child arise:

March!

Bayard Taylor

Well folks, March 2010, the third month of the Gregorian calendar is here.

Now is the time to shake off the winter blues and to ease into yard work. There is no time to procrastinate. The harsh winds of winter and heavy snows sent several willow limbs to the ground at the homestead. The giant pin oak lost a few branches as well.

A very old male mulberry tree that was once leaning on a weathered above ground dog pen is now touching the ground with its outstretched arms. The ugly tree did a fine job shading many of my dad's beagles in the day. Mother hens moved into the pen beneath her when the beagles moved out.

Angels enjoyed life under the shade of that old landmark, a piece of heaven to them. No, not those angels! Angels of the pigeon variety- the cooing kind!

Then Dad let the east garden go. Horse weeds tickled her boughs and the pen beneath lost its legs. The decapitated eyesore gave up and we removed it.

Soon only the memories will remain, including the time that I kindled a fine fire under my dad's iron butchering kettle. The fire got hot, the wind blew and sparks flew.

Then, in the meanwhile, taking advantage of the help; he put me on another job.

The flames from that fire headed for the shade of that old tree and charred the surface off of the front legs of the empty pen. The old bedding removed from the attached dog house at the rear of the pen lie littering the wire top. The flames found the debris and sent burning straw through the wire, onto the ground below.

The tree's lower branched dropped a few very dark leaves as well.

His nose picked up the stench brought about from the smoldering dog bedding.

Boy, he was mad as a hornet. For a few minutes, I felt like a little kid again, but I wasn't.

Then, the mood changed, like always. My old buddy grinned from ear to ear. He took the matches from my outstretched hand patted me on the back.

"We'll burn the debris out of the pasture fence tomorrow. Are you game?"

Like always, he could count on me.

I wouldn't mind hearing the music of Hugh Lynch Jr. again. I credit him with putting fire beneath my feet and wind beneath my wings.

The brooder house needs to be readied, in case I decide to incubate and brood this season.

Paul wants to increase the garden space this planting season. No doubt, I can handle that too. There is nothing finer than a beautiful garden and a bountiful harvest. Last year we were blessed with that.

This year I will pray for the same and hope for the best.

Paul visited the VA today. The yearly physical went fairly well. He reported no new cavities. (It's OK to laugh!)

The patient's right foot will be x-rayed next week to determine the cause of swelling and pain, in the arch area.

Tootie Mae is enjoying life at the little blue house at the end of the road. This chip off of the old block gave her a job to do around the house.

It takes me twice as long to make the bed. Tootie helps then; my little helper takes our works apart down to the bottom sheet, sometimes, repeatedly. She hates it when I wrap it up. You should hear her music! You should see her tantrum.

I offer-up a tasty treat and a hug. The little jumper heads for the kitchen - a shiny piece of work in motion. When she eats it sounds like a pig eating slack.

There is more good news. Gray and Trek, our feline adventurers came home three days ago. If the coyotes ate them, they spit them out in pretty good shape. After a complete physical by this quack, I made them listen to my song, served them a super supper, a little to drink, smiled and sent them to bed in the little blue shed.

Excuses weren't necessary. The boys came home!

We watched much of the Olympics. So much, in fact, that I dreamed I was a skier last night.

Now, this was a good dream that ended in disappointment.

There I was, sitting high on top of the mountain. Snow was coming down. I could feel it hit my wiry ponytail. I felt fit. Thoughts of winning a gold metal were jump starting my move. There was a gapped toothed grin on wind burnt face.

My polished skis looked so long to me. I sat still and stared at them and waited for the go and I took off like a bat out of a cave, jowls flapping in the wind, ponytail trailing behind. I even did some fancy turns and flips coming down. This Olympian would make it to the bottom- to the finish line. Everyone cheered as I came down. Yes, I wanted to be on a Wheaties box.What a thrill! You go girl!

Sadly, before my skis hit the line; Paul coughed, loudly, and spoiled my go for the gold. I got up and drank a glass of milk. Two hours later I was sawing logs and the 2010 Winter Olympics were no more.

I wore my pot metal cowgirl necklace today. Maybe I will dream about a bronco ride and a shiny silver belt buckle to go with my notch- less belt and a pair of old saddlebags.

Ho-hum, it's time to dream!

I can be reached by phone it 446-4852 or by e-mail at pmlsartor@aol.com.