This writer did not sleep well last night. Today, I look forward to bedtime. Maybe, I will shake a tired feeling.
Thursday, an insect with a stinger landed on my eyelid. The eyelid swelled and inflamed. The itching/burning sensation, in and around the eye continues to bother me.
Last year I dealt with poison sumac on my face. There is always a possibility of that happening again. Ivy, in abundance, thrives around here.
Utility gloves save my hands, but will not help a bit if I touch the vines or sweat needs swiped from the brow.
I am smart enough, these days, to clear the ding in the deck of the rider of grass build-up and free-up the blade with a sturdy stick.
The skin drinks in that poison, just as morning dew bothers and bites my naked ankles and sandaled feet.
Japanese beetles are doing what comes naturally. They feed and breed on ornamentals, the grape vines, and various other trees and plants. Sometimes they land on my visor.
The clusters of green grapes will be fine and ripen according to plan.
Soon the shiny beetles will stop bugging us and we will be walking over the next hatch.
A house wren discovered the beautifully painted dipper gourd given to me by the late, Mary Fern Stewart.
Fern died last year. I saved her work of art, in store, ever since she hand-carried my gift to the little blue house at the end of the road, several years ago.
I hung it near the ceiling of the back porch, nearby the backdoor, last month. The opening and the tiny pine perch faces the woods.
The gourd house saw many visitors come and go. Bees and flies of every size touch upon the colorful lacquered flowers and flee.
The little nesting place warms to the sun, sways in the breeze and steals a kiss from the morning dew. It dances in the rain.
One morning I noticed a spider loosely draped the dream home in a silky veil.
Even birds are leery of a house covered in webs.
Another swipe of the hand took care of that. I watched everyday for squatters of the feathered kind. None came to check out the gourd.
Today I observed the busy pair working in and about the sizable blue hard-rind inedible fruit.
I was thrilled. I thought of what I know about the homebuilders. Those little songbirds may move to one or several spots that are more suitable before they settle down and nest. They may take over the nests of other birds.
The gourd is rocking to the music of their song. My fingers are crossed. My friend would be so pleased that, to me, her gift is gold!
Now that the hawks that nested on the property in the spring have more free time, they come and go. The birds soar over the place. I like to think that pair of chicken hawks is keeping track of me.
Paul took time out of his day off to work on his garden tractor. The workhorse that we purchased from Sears in the late '80s needed an overhaul and parts replaced. He had not used the machine for quite sometime. He stored it in the feed storage building. Everything went well. My husband called me outside to check out his work.
I said, "Start your engine!" He turned on the ignition. The motor refused to turn over.
While I was standing beside the tractor observing the tired disappointed mechanic, He said, "I think I have located the problem.
He picked up the hose of the air compressor and shot a wad of straw and other materials out of that engine and a young mouse along with it. The mouse was startled, I startled and my better half jumped back, because I screamed.
Then, within minutes of the landing, the frightened little mouse climbed back into the tractor.
I left the building, laughing.
The boss came in later with a grin on his face "The mower is OK, but that little mouse is still among the living."
Oh brother, I do not need a mouse around, especially one that flies.
It seems like there is always something to kill around here, except time.
I can be reached by phone at 446-4852 or by email at firstname.lastname@example.org.