A sense of fall is in the air.
The foliage of the Catalpa tree is turning yellow and brown, weeds, at seed, are bending low.
The farmer will soon be harvesting his crop of soybeans beyond the cedar windbreak. There could be a better than fair harvest after all.
Wild rabbits rarely visit the yard during the day now. Their babies have long since left the nests.
It is time to get lost in the brambles.
The rabbits on this property are fairly safe from hunters these days, unless trespassers or coyotes and other predators need a quick meal.
In the winter, they semi-hibernate in cozy burrows.
My dad was a seasonal rabbit hunter, but he was not big on taking the wild game other than squirrels close to the house.
Deer did not frequent our yard when he was living.
The large amount of beagle hounds in his kennel and dog packs of other breeds that ran at large kept them within the safe limits of the deep woods.
I do not recall venison ever being served at our table.
We enjoyed everything else other than opossum and mink that he trapped or bagged and brought home from his hunting trips.
We loved the pheasant and wild turkey that he brought back from more distant hunting grounds, all through the Midwest.
Sometimes, the marksman would add a few quail to his canvas game pouch, singled out from spooked coveys of the mature birds in his path.
My part-time job began around mid-August and ended in January, during his hunting seasons.
I knew that this small game handler would be knee deep in feathers and hides during that time.
I helped dress game birds and remove the hides of his allowable limits of woodland critters early on.
I was handy with the blade of the ivory handled hunting knife when it came down to extracting buckshot from the flesh of some of those kills.
I missed some, too. You wouldn't want to hear about that.
As long as I knew when and how to hold them, the job was mine.
It was a rewarding job -- no money needed.
Working next to his side and, later, partaking of the food that our provider brought from the field and woods to the family's table meant so much to all of us.
My brother, John Wayne, an avid hunter and my little sister, Sandra Elaine, experienced much of the same.
Mother never acquired a taste for the birds nor the other wild game, but she prepared the meats, to perfection, without complaints.
Our mother married dad April 16, 1933.
The young bride knew early on hunting came with the package, as did the hounds.
I'm not sure that "Peep" was prepared for his interest in animal husbandry and the large menagerie of domestic animals that kept her man, without an ark, Hugh Lynch, happy for all 59 years of their married life.
She loved her man and that was that. So, the good wife accepted his passions, cooked the lean meat, rendered the fat and spared the spats.
It is still there as vivid as yesterday.
These days, the memories gained from golden seasons of the past and of the dearly departed loved ones that made it happen comfort me.
My life's journey has never been dull.
Thanks to a wonderful husband and the rest of the family and everything else that keeps me happy. Fact is, this old girl is still feeling good about the trip.
Last evening, our grandsons, Michael and Daniel Risk, and their spouses, Kay and Amber Risk, visited us.
The folks at the little blue house at the end of the road were delighted.
I served chicken and homemade noodles, as per usual, several tasty sides and a choice of homemade peanut butter pie or apple spice cake.
Dan and Amber were in from California to attend a wedding.
They are headed back home today.
Dan has a meeting at Disneyland this evening.
He is also working on various filming projects and working with notable people in the industry.
The young men's sister, Lindsay Terry and her family, were unable to attend the visit this time, but I am planning a Halloween party to take place in October.
I am sure I can draw them in for that.
Olivia Erin Cory, the daughter of Lori Patrick and the late Bruce Cory, assumed a new job position recently.
She is presently executive chief at a well known resort in Vail, Colo. Coupled with her college studies, fact is, she has a full plate also.
Imagine this: Her creation, "Southwestern Hamburger," costs $16.
She said they sell like hot cakes. I bet that it is mighty good. No bland cheese spread or blemished irregularly cut pickles or withered lettuce on it.
Select chilies and spicy sauce would be more like it. And, no doubt, that isn't "old bull ground up," either.
As for me, I am just glad my computer is up and running. Consequently, I can send "Brazil Buzz" your way.
The system was down for a few hours. I did a little detective work and found the problem.
Someone that goes by the name of Tootie Mae Sartor unplugged it, unintentionally.
She no longer naps at my feet beneath this desk while I am edging your way.
How do I know she did it? It happened again when I was checking out my e-mails.
I informed her that was not going to work. If looks could kill, I would be dead.
Then, like a whipped puppy, she ran to her next best friend dragging her tail behind her. We both had to laugh.
I am thankful for you, my readers. God is good.
I can be reached by phone at 448-4852 or by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.