Loud is the summer's busy song:
The smallest breeze can find a tongue,
While insects of every tiny size
Grow teasing with their melodies,
Till noon burns with it blistering breath
Around, and day lies still as death.
This is a busy time for me. The sweet corn is ready for harvest, as is most everything in my garden. Proper care is paying off well. I work at the preservation of bounty every day now. I share and thank God for my blessings.
Today I will peel the last of the peaches taken from the trees in my small orchard.
Apples will come later. I am glad that I can make use of the fruit off of that old tree. My tree is an off-shoot of a much larger tree that once stood on the homestead property.
The tree bore inferior fruit, as I recall. That fruit tree was partially shaded by an addition to our summer kitchen/feed shed that once held pigeons and rabbit cages.
The tall tree had many branches and many problems. Even though an abundance of organic matter cuddled up to its root system and the ground rarely lacked moisture, the little green apples that it bore never seemed to suit us.
Of course my brother, John Wayne and I ate our share while collecting them in a wheelbarrow for the hogs, goats. and two kids of the human kind.
We even threw a few rock-hard fastballs just for the sport of it. It was a silly game.
Dad warned against eating them. He reminded us of a sweet little girl in the neighborhood that died from eating too much of the green fruit.
Sometimes our bellyaches lead to more problems than we expected and some beyond our control.
Apple trees have branches that smart, too. Did you know that? This old kid of the corn can relate.
Now, with proper pruning, spraying, moisture and breathing room this tree bears edible cooking apples. I have peeled bushels and pecks of them. They are used for pies and/or applesauce.
Still, I will continue to search the roadside stands in the fall for other varieties for my eating pleasure, as well.
I find little time now to check out the wonders of nature in my space.
I did witness the birth of a moth, on bent knees. The metamorphosis took place behind the container that holds my now giant bird house gourd plant beneath the catalpa tree. It was amazing.
This morning, I saw a stout bodied moth beneath the lights on one of our garages.
When I pulled myself up from that abrupt encounter, my knees killed the joy of the moment.
Today I spotted a black snake slithering through the grass between the house and the grape arbor. I recently mentioned to my sister that I spotted fewer of the reptiles this year than last.
Whether black snakes are beneficial or not; I do not like them near me. Lucky for that one; I was inside looking out. At this time of year, my corn knife is always close at hand.
Paul and I are looking forward to our grandson's wedding this month. Yep, I plan on a complete transformation myself. Nice new outfits and coordinating accessories are in the closet.
Perhaps my selections are much too much for my age. The bride mentioned bright colors. That's in the bag! I think I will leave the faded me, the clover chains and faded jeans at home.
The make-up will be a refreshing change and the hairdo this old beautician, of sorts, plans to pull off, hopefully, will give them a taste of old Hollywood.
I do not dress up often anymore, but, with luck; its just enough to make Paul Baby jealous again.
There is just one more wrinkle in this far from perfect picture. I could use some Botox.
Truth is, I am going as Michael Risk's grandmother and I am honored to be a part of his life and his special day.
I received several calls from my readers last week and visitors stopped by the little blue house at the end of the road - a heartfelt thanks is in order to you.
I was outside when a friend and avid reader of "Brazil Buzz" rang my phone. I saw his name on my caller ID.
I made a note to call him back and did. He commented on a letter missing from a word, a small oversight that was made. We laughed about it as we always do when he teases me about mistakes.
The brief conversation ended and I returned to the peaches that I was processing, still thinking about the error.
I looked toward the end of the counter and noticed the notepad that I wrote the fellows number on. Beside the phone number, the reminder read "Call Richard, in regard to the "air." I laughed at myself again.
Poet Ella Wheeler wrote a poem titled, "Solitude," in the latter part of the 1800's. She penned and I quote, "Laugh and the world laughs with you. Weep and you weep alone." So, bear with me folks. Sometimes I get carried away.
I am just living out my senior years with a positive attitude, a smile on my face, a song in my heart and laughter. I make sure there is no time in my busy days to bother with tears or loneliness.
I pass out at night.
This writer looks forward to Thursdays when we connect through this newspaper. Thank you!
I can be reached by phone at 446-4852 or by email at email@example.com.