Life Trails: It's a Dog's Life

I had an interesting conversation with my 70 something friend this week.  We discussed the usual we’re gettin' worn out trivia that we 60/70 somethings throw back and forth at times.  When you’re at this point on the life trail, and you stop to enjoy the lookout point, what you begin to see can be increasingly disturbing!

-When did the children get to be so old?

-Oh my god, that can’t be so and so on my PBS screen who sang whatever it was that hit number 1 on the charts in ‘65‘ cause she certainly didn’t look like that!

-I thought my mother passed away…but now she’s in my bathroom mirror ! 

-I used to run to the mailbox, now it’s so far away it takes twice as long to get there!  When did the Post Office move it?

-I know times are hard but do ALL the companies that produce food for our shopping…have to make the print so small on their labels?!

-Have you noticed that all manufacturers are making the clothes smaller – including the shoes?!

-I think I recall when the young guys used to give me a certain kind of second, slightly longer look; now, they tip their hat, hurry to open the door for me and say things like ‘yes Ma’am’…did I miss something???

-The manager at a Loaf ‘n Jug’ told me the other day that the reason I had to pay first before pumping was due to a fella’ running off with a full tank of gas a few days before - without paying…’he was around your age..’, he said, looking at me with that similar certain look I get from the young guys.

So this morning, my 70 something friend gave me some words of wisdom – and I listened – ‘cause there’s no generation gap here!  “When your plate gets too heavy…just put it on the floor"! 

Now that…has possibilities…

Nature prevails, at least for a little while longer…

Trails of Yesterday: Today

I found this in an e-mail this morning; it sounds awfully familiar...

I just wanted to mention that it is Wednesday. I have no clue exactly how it got to be Wednesday because the last I checked, it was Monday morning.

It is also sinking in that it is winter, another of life's mysteries to me since I still feel the September sun on my neck and recall the tomatoe plants struggling to set fruit (which they never did!)

My mother is hiding behind my bathroom mirror - absolutely without my permission! 

And those funny-looking guys on PBS, singing my favorite 1970 and 1980 songs - must be impersonating the original singers, 'cause I am CERTAIN none of them looked that gray and wrinkled when they were singing those songs...a few years go.

But then, my sainted husband looks, sounds and feels the same as he did 20 years ago.  So I guess all is right with the world.

Nature prevails! (At least SOMETHING stays the same!)

Snow Trails: Christmas Blizzard

Mother Nature gave us a Christmas gift that whitened up our outdoor wonderland, will probably test a few snow-shoveling hearts today and slow down travel to an as-needed basis for a day or two.

Received an e-mail from a Southeast Colorado neighbor/writer/friend in Lamar this morning about his snow coverage.  Oris George always tells a good story, and this one is no less descriptive or real than those in his new book, Along the Back Roads of Yesterday. This e-mail is a must-share!  As is his book - a great gift for your last-minute buying.

 “Mother Nature zapped us a good one! …about 12 inches of new snow last night, drifts 3 to 5 feet…  In places the cows are eating corn stalks, etc. that are on completely bare ground.  Snow drifted onto the back porch, three feet deep!

I opened the kitchen door at 4:30 this morning…  Much to my sleep-eyed surprise, our border collie who was supposed to be in her doghouse, came bounding into the kitchen, acting all smart! Her pen had drifted full and she had walked out over a 6 foot drift. With this knee just recovering from a replacement, I could hardly walk in the drifts.  (In my advanced age I am becoming a sissy.)

I have not a clue how I am going to clean the snow out of that dog pen. I wrapped myself in a heavy coat, put on heavy rubber boots and ventured out to feed the chickens. Trying to walk through those snow drifts with boots on and the snow deep, I found I needed to go back to the house and wait for spring!”

I suspect poor Lily (the smart dog)...may spend a few days visiting Oris's chicken yard!

Enjoy the beauty, wonder and awesome power of Nature-at-work this Christmas week...in Southeast Colorado.

Particularly today, as the snow plows roar by...Nature prevails!

Chicken Trails: The Pupalotte Kids

Hasty Acres introduces the 5 day old, Pupalotte kids - all 25 of them! Nature, in its tiny, fluffy stage.

-The Pupalottes are little bundles of energy with growing wing feathers, some just a little, a few - over half already!
-The Pupalottes already flap their little wings fervently as they jump/fly short distances.
-The Pupalotte personalities are developing; l'tle Ms. Pupalotte, pale yellow with teeny black spots, is my fav; she sits quietly on my arm and seems to enjoy her head and chin rubs.
-Most of the black Pupalottes, the cockerels, are more flighty, less touchable.
-A few of these black Pupalottes quickly peck at my finger if its close to them, while the others are more approachable.


More Pupalottes on the way; Hasty Acres awaits...

Nature prevails.

Trails of Kindness: A Special Glass of Milk

I received an e-mail today, one of those that circle around with embellished tales of Love and kindness that put a tear to the eye and tip our daily spiritual bank accounts a little toward the ‘full’ side.  Today, I followed this e-mail through Snopes.com and found its basis to be even more ‘filling’ than the embellished tale, itself.

The e-mail reads:

Glass of Milk

One day, a poor boy who was selling goods from door to door to pay his way through school, found he had only one thin dime left, and he was hungry.

He decided he would ask for a meal at the next house. However, he lost his nerve when a lovely young woman opened the door.

Instead of a meal he asked for a drink of water! . She thought he looked hungry so brought him a large glass of milk.

He drank it so slowly, and then asked, How much do I owe you?"

You don't owe me anything," she replied. "Mother has taught us never to accept pay for a kindness."

He said ... "Then I thank you from my heart."

As Howard Kelly left that house, he not only felt stronger physically, but his faith in God and man was strong also. He had been ready to give up and quit.

Many years later that same young woman became critically ill. The local doctors were baffled. They finally sent her to the big city, where they called in specialists to study her rare disease.

Dr. Howard Kelly was called in for the consultation. When he heard the name of the town she came from, a strange light filled his eyes.

Immediately he rose and went down the hall of the hospital to her room.

Dressed in his doctor's gown he went in to see her. He recognized her at once.

He went back to the consultation room determined to do his best to save her life. From that day he gave special attention to her case.

After a long struggle, the battle was won.

Dr. Kelly requested the business office to pass the final bill to him for approval. He looked at it, then wrote something on the edge, and the bill was sent to her room. She feared to open it, for she was sure it would take the rest of her life to pay for it all. Finally she looked, and something caught her attention on the side of the bill. She read these words ...

"Paid in full with one glass of milk"

(Signed) Dr. Howard Kelly.

Snopes.com has a touching and true short biography review on Dr.  Howard Kelly which you can read through the above link.  According to Snopes:

• Though Dr. Kelly was never destitute, he did give over half of his services, free, to those who were.
• Thought Dr. Kelly did not save the sick woman from a rare disease, his charity to her and all of the above-mentioned non-paying clients seems rare in today’s world of me, me, and more me.
• Though, coming from a wealthy family, Dr. Kelly was not selling items door to door to pay for schooling, he was on a Nature walk when he received his pivotal glass of milk.

Sometimes we are annoyed and irritated by the plethora of ‘pass it on’ e-mails that clog our in-boxes through the days.  And I wonder sometimes if many of them are even worth the time it takes to read them. 

Yet, once in awhile, they give us a peek into the special parts of other lives, that indeed become – at least for a few minutes in our hectic worlds…’the wind beneath our wings’.

As always...Nature prevails.

Fireside Trails: A Pink Event

Pink is not necessarily prevelent in Oris George's life, since he does not like the color! But today, Mr. George inadvertently created a 'pink event' in his life.

Sometimes, Mr. and Mrs. Oris enjoy an evening near their wood stove, reminiscing by the fire, sharing donkey memories and re-reading one of Oris' special stories, A Man by the Side of the Road (one of my favorites). And sometimes, Oris' camera gives him even more memories...

It was on one of these chilly evenings that Oris took these photos.  His talent is awesome, and helps us prepare for the cold, winter months ahead.

                                      Photo by Oris George

Mr. George tells me these shots were taken with the glass front of the stove - closed!  I am continually stunned and in admiration of this writer and his photography talents.

"Stove is a Hearth Stone Heritage model Non-Catalytic Wood Stove with glass door.The camera is a Nikon coolpix p100 nikor 26x wide optical zoom ed vr , 4.6 120mm 1:2,8-5.0."

"I was sitting looking at the stove from an angle. I watched the blue flame dancing across the top of the logs as the gas from the logs was burning. I noticed when the flame flared...As I looked at it from the angle, it flashed a column of light that seemed to come out from the stove."

                                      Photo by Oris George



As always...Nature prevails, even in the flames of life.

Egg Trails: A Baker’s Dozen

By George, they almost did it! We collected a baker's dozen of eggs today, leaving only two pretties not producing as yet. We're singing egg-praises to our productive flock today at Hasty Acres.

The usual egg singing that goes on most of the morning was a bit louder today; now the cause is clear. At one point in this morning’s loud rock concert (a bit off key), we peeked into the coop and chuckled at the line of singing hens that ran from the chicken door to the ladder below the nest boxes. We need more nests...was the general consensus. So we added 3 extra milk crates to the nest area to hopefully assist them in expediting their morning chores.

We sat watching our flock through several cups of coffee today. We couldn’t be more pleased with the final flock members, following our final culling last month. We had a couple of White Rock roosters who thought they owned the place! They made the girls scream and kept the flock in an uproar for hours. They brought $3.25 a piece at the monthly auction!

3 roosters remain, an Americauna and 2 Cornish. You’d never know they were on the job if you weren’t watching closely. The girls cooperate quietly for the most part due to the gentle care they get from their mates. The dominant guy is a gorgeous Americauna whom we have dubbed Mr. B.D. (big daddy!). He’s mostly wheaten-colored with a stunning rust saddle across his upper back. His prominent tail sports lovely, rust-laced wide feathers with a nice complement of saddle feathers laying down both sides of his lower back. There will be a photo shoot soon; he just needs to get a little more camera-ready.

The remaining flock consists of 2 Light Brahmas, 2 White Leghorns, 4 Americauna pretties, 1 darker reddish hen that may be a Rhode Island Red cross, 1 reddish and white hen who resembles a Golden Comet, 2 Shiny black hens with some reddish lacing on their chests – possibly Black Star crosses, 2 Black hens with slight Columbian-type white collars resembling a Birchen Maran and of course - our new Buff Orpinton.

Our flock is growing strong and productive and we are enjoying the 6 to 13 eggs a day.

As always – particularly in our backyard chicken flock these days…Nature prevails.

Egg Trails: The First Egg of the Flock

Ladies and gentlemen, a moment of due silence, please, as the drum rolls.... The girls are listening.

The first egg of the flock arrived this AM; it's real; it's at Hasty Acres; it was in the nest; it is perfect! And almost full size.

Interestingly enough, it is brown. We expected a white one from one of the leghorns since the literature suggests they are the earliest layers in our flock.

When we arranged this idea (as I mentioned in an earlier post), we chose breeds that would round out a natural flock with tendencies for:

-meat
-eggs - including production and colors
-small combs - to better handle winter temps
-setting tendencies - for natural flock reproduction
-and of course - prettiness (is that even a word!) for enjoyment.


Our pretties arrived at the post office from Cackle Hatchery, March 23rd, 2011. Leghorn, Americauna, Cornish, Rock and Brahma pullets filled the welcomed, long-awaited box of teeny-tiny, chirping pretties of various shades of chicky colors; we were ecstatic!

Their palace awaited their arrival. A brand new sheep tank in our chicken house feed room sat chicky-ready complete with heat lamps snapped to both sides, newspaper-lined bottom with paper towels on top to keep their legs from splaying. 2 brand new red, long chicky feeders filled with Chick Starter and 2 chicky waterers filled to the brim with fresh water laced with some sugar to ensure they perked up – from a long, scary chicky trip from Missouri.

Extraneous chickys entered our flock during the week or two following the March date above, as Big R feed stores had the gall to have rows of tanks full of chicky-pretties to tempt us! More on that later.

August 20th, 2011. 5 months...shy 2 days!

Which ever pretty you are, congratulations! You are the leader of the eggs,the queen for a day; you rock, egg-layer-leader of the Hasty Acres chicken flock.

Even in chicky world, Nature prevails.

Space Shuttle Trails: The Changing of the Space Guard

The article linked below succinctly sums up the era of the space shuttle. Richard Velotta intertwines a little family humor with some sad facts about the last flight of Atlantis.

At 64, I hesitate to imagine that an era of 30 years has passed. I vividly recall - even the moon walk, the rockets, the ocean landings with the astronauts bobbing around in the bumpy seas. Where has all this time gone...

But, as Mr. Velotta suggests, sometimes a closed door opens another - maybe different, but usually better. Better...may entail asteroids, other planets...and maybe in another lifetime, another universe.

http://www.vegasinc.com/news/2011/aug/01/space/

As always, Nature prevails - even in Space!

Fiction Trails: Babe Ridge

I dedicate this story to my brother who lost his long-time feline friend, Babe, several years ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Babe’s meowing woke Kayley, again. 4:24 AM showed faintly red from across the room.

For five consecutive nights Kayley had endured the far-away cries, sleeping only fitfully from exhaustion now. Several times a night she’d stumble around the old farm house, searching the same corners, hoping that maybe this time, Babe’s long, elegant Siamese head would appear, staring at her with those stunning blue eyes. Each time Kayley began her search, the cries stopped. Each time she’d doze off, they returned. Her meowing sounds so far away, lonely and pleading. A forlornness surrounds me each time I hear her, she thought.

It’s impossible. Kayley reiterated her thoughts during each trek through the moonlit house. Even if Babe was trapped somewhere close by, she’d have surely passed out if not died by now. I’m going crazy - there is no other logical explanation…

The alarm at 8 AM seemed much earlier than it was. But soon, sounds of coffee dripping and its all too familiar aroma, covered Kayley with a thin layer of overdue sanity as her brain tried to make sense of the past five days. Looking through the large, kitchen window out over the garden brought her ongoing grief to forefront as she yet again, struggled with the memories of Babe’s disappearance three months ago. The day after the early October snowstorm that shut down upstate New York for a week, she thought. I'll always remember that empty, white morning.

Babe is gone! Embrace that. She stiffened her back, forcing a semblance of emotional strength into her gut. Yet the cries she endured these past nights seemed almost normal, or maybe that was her mind playing tricks – wishing Babe back into her life, into her arms. I miss the purring most; whether Babe was on my shoulder, against my face at night, on my lap in the porch swing…always the purr – loud, yet strangely soft and soothing.

She poured the warm, inviting coffee into her old, chipped cup with the Siamese cat picture. Grabbing her coat by the back door, she decided to walk out to the empty garden while the coffee worked at restoring some life back into her neurons. Maybe if I can experience the sadness just one more time, stand in the garden where Babe and I shared our last moments the evening before the storm...maybe then, I can let most of this sadness go.

31 degrees showed on the porch thermometer; daily temps this week hadn’t topped freezing.

Dried out, bare stalks stood where her luscious tomatoes had hung only months before. The bean plants were unrecognizable, the beet patch showing only some remnants of leftover leaf parts. Involuntarily, she was drawn to the garlic. A few dead stems, some frozen cloves lay about. She wiped her tears as she recalled Babe’s favorite game: she’d roll around in the garlic plants, Kayley then scolded her, and a Siamese streak went for the barn. After her weeding, Kayley would call Babe and they'd meet a few minutes later, back on the porch swing. Babe’s sorrys were understood in her purr – always, the amazing purr. This game was one of their connections, their bonding rituals, their play together. Kayley struggled daily with the void that filled her now, peppered only with shadows of the old reality that had soothed her life, filled her hours, solidified the friendship so unique between humans and animals.

Instantly lost from her reverie, she froze in her position as she noticed the paw prints in the ground by her feet. Babe’s unmistakable 2 missing toes on her left hind foot made for positive identification. But…how could that be, Kayley struggled for a sense of logic, understanding, reality. I was here just yesterday – no prints then; everything was frozen; no moisture…

The prints continued, up towards the ridge. Kayley followed them as if led by an unknown, calm strength she did not understand, yet obeyed. Ten minutes passed before she reached and began to climb the small ridge which stood about 20 feet higher than the top of the old farmhouse below. She pulled herself to a level rock outcropping and stood still. Why am I here?

The cold, morning air was absolutely still. No bird calls, nothing moved. Tree limbs stood bare in their browns and grays, frozen in place in the stark, low rays of sunlight coming across the property. Kayley looked over her 50 acres with a deep, profound Love and belonging. Willed to her many years ago when her parents died, the upkeep filled her soul - her deep need for a connection to Nature, her yen for privacy. The work here was spiritual; there was no better word. But Nature - in all her strength and awesome beauty, sometimes took things from her, killed things, changed lives and left scars. For Kayley, this balance - a leveling of good and bad, high and low, positive and negative - made sense in a mystical, unexplainable, natural sense. She didn't understand Nature's purpose sometimes, but the mystery of this life fit her like a new prom dress and she held on to this dance she did each day, with every spark of her consciousness.

She sensed and felt her aging, of late; her mother seemed to appear more and more in her mirror, her grandmother's hands sometimes worked her crochet needles now instead of the tightly skinned fingers she used for years before. And even though the pain and anguish of life still caused her emotions to override her reason at times, a deeper understanding seeped in with the years. Some 'wisdom to know the difference between the things to change...and not...', showed more clarity these days. Slowly gaining this understanding of the circle of life, fed her the strength to cope, to rise above, to let Nature...take its course. NOT that she liked the downfalls – the ’winters’, any more than not. But her 60's...were a mixture that smelled of good wine, tasted like aged fruitcake, warmed like her grandmother's quilt.

Then there was the cry, only this time it was faint, almost imperceptible – but real; a tiny, kitten noise. Her ear followed the sound to the right, just inside a small opening in the rock. Kneeling down, Kayley looked inside. She stopped breathing at the sight of an emaciated Siamese Momma cat curled around 4 small kittens. Babe. There is no mistaking your purr – even in your present state.

Sunlight concentrated in the small opening in the rock and the temperature was warmer around the cats. Kayley picked up the one kitten that still moved. Oh Babe, she’s you, she thought as she quickly tucked the frail feline inside her coat. She reached over to pet Babe, getting ready to take her too, but the purr was gone. Babe was gone. Her beautiful Siamese friend, just laid there, curled around her three, still babies.  I have to get back to the house. Save the kitten; hurry!

Late that afternoon, the low rays of the setting sun filled the little farm house living room and surrounded the tiny kitten in Kayley’s lap. The heating pad had kept life burning inside the new-born feline during the critical hours of the long morning. Within a few hours, the kitten had revived enough to take a little milk. Kayley marveled that she had kept her old doll bottle all these years, a life saver for which she thanked the Creator today.

Kayley knew the kitten would most likely survive. 40 plus years of staff-time to numerous cats gave her confidence of her conviction. Yes, Baby would be just fine. Kayley also knew she would have to continue her fitful sleeping schedule for a few more weeks until Baby matured enough to handle longer periods without food.

I'll go to the ridge in the morning and bury Babe and her kittens. But for now, I'll walk through the garden one more time, a good-bye walk, I think. She bundled Baby, tucked her safely into a box by the fireplace and put on her coat. One last look at the paw prints, she thought.

Kayley spent over an hour in the garden; Babe’s paw prints were gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My original focus for this blog was a scientific one. My Geology background coupled with my fascination with Nature was to blend into something fairly academic, coupled with shades and shadows of life intertwined amongst the facts and theories. I ended up doing more blogging than research, a trend I endeavor to change.

Written words make marvelous toys. They take us to a different, separate world, away from the hustle and stress of life and daily reality. The car crashes, political battles, diseases and other dark parts of life seem so much more removed in a story, though in some ways, carry more impact. But whatever a story contains, it it foremost, completely and only...a story. Your imagination is the dealer; the cards remain benign.

When you have your brake pedal to the floor and your vehicle is sliding ever so quickly towards a turning truck - very few feet in front of you, (as I experienced yesterday), one reacts much more harshly and realistically than if this truck belongs to Clive Cussler's main character - who obviously needs to live through 203 more pages! Your imagination p l a y s with these words, the stress is make believe. When your story is finished, you take your imaginative toys, and go back to reality.

My brother really has a 'Babe Ridge' on his property, named of course, for his lost friend. But from there, I allowed my imagination to make its own soup, mixed with my sensing as I listened to his story and memories of Babe, last year.

The general overview of the story congealed almost immediately during our conversation. But when I sat down to actually write it a few weeks ago, I lost contact with my surroundings for awhile and the keys tapped out this slightly different version. When I read through the completed rough draft, I seemed to be walking in a strange land of ethereal shadows, threaded whispers and unknown realities.

From where does a story rise? How do the words find familiarity, juxtaposition and cohesion...if one is not in direct control? I understand the birth of the original meaning in this case, but I almost want to run from the thought that I, myself, created this. And not because of any ego-bound emotions of good or bad, etc. But from the unknowing, the separation of my consciousness from the final product. I look at the first, physical presentation of my imagination and meet it for the first time as a stranger..who is yet - part of me. Fear is not quite what causes my fight or flight urge from further writing of this nature, rather my sensing indicates something similar including distance, a loss of understanding, a strangeness with which my discomfort level is high. I am flooded with self-doubt; can I do this again if I don't know how I did it?

During the early part of the last century, Carl Jung, a respected Swiss Psychiatrist, coined the phrase, Collective Unconscious. Wikipedia explains; "Collective unconscious is a term of analytical psychology, coined by Carl Jung. It is proposed to be a part of the unconscious mind, expressed in humanity and all life forms with nervous systems, and describes how the structure of the psyche autonomously organizes experience. Jung distinguished the collective unconscious from the personal unconscious, in that the personal unconscious is a personal reservoir of experience unique to each individual, while the collective unconscious collects and organizes those personal experiences in a similar way with each member of a particular species".

Brilliant, educated minds such as Jung seem to trust this theory; maybe I can, as well. Maybe I had help with my story. Maybe...so did many other fiction writers.

With Jung's shadow on my shoulder, I will persevere to pull more fantasy and make believe from the belly of my imagination.

After all, Nature still prevails, even in the recesses of my imagination.

Political Trails: Let's Scare the Old People!

Please enjoy a more "mature" view on the never-ending scare tactics from Washington.

It seems the political "wolf" is yet again, chasing Social Security through the proverbial woods; will he finally stop Grandma's check from reaching her door?

This raises our stress levels; we're both retired with Social Security filling more than a third of our wallet.

share

Comments encouraged; let us know your thoughts and any further information you may have to enlighten this issue.

As always, Nature prevails.

Animal Trails; too funny!

I received this in e-mail. I do not know the author - this is NOT my writing. (wish it was). I would appreciate being able to credit the proper author; please contact me if you are the author - or can assist me in that direction; thank you. daniellesimone0@gmail.com. In the meantime - all you animal lovers...enjoy!
***********************

FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE PETS, THIS IS A TRUE STORY.
FOR THOSE THAT DON'T, IT’S ALSO A TRUE STORY.
The following was found posted very low on a refrigerator door.

Dear Dogs and Cats: The dishes on the floor with the paw prints are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Placing a paw print in the middle of my plate does not mean that is suddenly your food, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.

The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Racing me to the top of the stairs is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.

I cannot buy anything bigger than a king sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It Is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other, stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out on the other end to maximize space that you are taking up, is nothing but sarcasm.

For the last time, there is no secret exit from the bathroom! If, by some miracle, I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge in an attempt to open the door. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also, I have been using the bathroom for years - canine/feline attendance is not required.

The proper order for kissing is: Kiss me first, then go smell the other dog or cat's butt. I cannot stress this enough.

Finally, in fairness, dear pets, I have posted the following message on the front door:
TO ALL NON-PET OWNERS WHO VISIT AND COMPLAIN ABOUT OUR PETS:

(1) They live here....you don't.
(2) If you don't want their hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture.
That's why they call it “fur”-niture.
(3) I like my pets a lot better than I like most people.
(4) To you, they are animals. To me, they are adopted sons/daughters who are short, hairy, walk on all fours and don't speak clearly.

Remember, dogs and cats are better than kids because they:
(1) eat less,
(2) don't ask for money all the time,
(3) are easier to train,
(4) normally come when called,
(5) never ask to drive the car,
(6) don't hang out with drug-using people;
(7) don't smoke or drink,
(8) don't want to wear your clothes,
(9) don't have to buy the latest fashions,
(10) don't need a gazillion dollars for college and
(11) if they get pregnant, you can sell their children.....
***************************************************

AS always...Nature prevails - particularly on all fours.

GetStuffGone Trails; Hasty Acres

Monday is July 4th; we could be out careening around crazy boaters on John Martin Reservoir, stuffing our face with god-knows-what-ingredient-containing hot dogs, or even dodging traffic and law-enforcement on the hiways and biways. Instead, we thought we'd focus at home.

It's only a little half-acre here and the work will NEVER be done for us ole folks. Since our future goals to move closer to a large city must have total support from a GetStuffGONE effort, our mission ahead is to GetStuffGONE! Now that the local Bent County garbage-receptacle place charges for deposits, we are learning new lessons in creativity.

• -The local monthly auction in Las Animas (last Sunday of the month/Cody Downare, auctioneer), though not always very lucrative - does keep your stuff after it sells; one way to GetStuffGONE!
• -Our entertaining, local Lamar radio station, KLMR, klmrswapshop@hotmail.com, conducts a daily Swap-Shop show; you call in or e-mail your GetStuffGone items and they send it out over the airwaves. NO, unfortunately the stuff doesn't do the air-wave thingy (I WISH!), but the info flies around techno-land and sometimes, treasure-hunters call - even keep their promise to arrive, and if you are particularly fortunate that day, they leave with one or more GetStuffGONE item(s). Presto! The mission moves forward. After all, nothing in life is perfect, - just moments of perfection.

Our learning-curve with this new, creative approach to our concerted GetStuffGONE effort - is slow. But we're ole folks, after all; at least that's my story and I'm stickin' to it!

Next month...yard sales?

Hasty Days - a masterful, yearly event in our little town, occurs in September, complete with parade, plentiful meals, tractor pulls and a live-band-dancing event under the stars. We may be Hasty Days ready for a gar-jantic yard-sale along the parade route in two months...or not. Learning to part with stuff...takes time, right???

Do you have GetStuffGONE thoughts? Please share; daniellesimone0@gmail.com (that's a zero after my name), or post your thoughts in a comment below. We're on a mission...

As always, Nature prevails.

Memory Makers: Mother's Day Trail

We always receive the blessings we need - at the time we need them.

My friend phoned me a Mother's Day wish (I had forgotten the holiday), in one of her soft-spoken, Loving tones I so enjoy sharing. The conversation became philosophical - as it so often does with us; we spoke about 'Memory Moments'.

"As I've experienced life along the way, I find that I don't always realize I'm experiencing a 'Memory Moment' - until it's past.’That's the one', I realize down the road. So now I wonder at times, is this a "Memory Moment?"

I so hear her thoughts. I think maybe - if we wonder if any particular moment is a Memory Moment, it most likely is.

Memory Moments - make life bearable - even awesome at times. Think about it. When your child is 4 and asks; "Were you alive when the dinosaurs lived, Mom?"

And what about…-"Give Grandma the money!"

• "Do they have gas stations in space, Mom?"
• Watching my 6 week old chicks fly around their newly opened outdoor pen with unmitigated joy!
• The day my foal took her first, few wobbly steps as her Mother nudged her flank with a worried brow.
• Holding my husband's hand as he awoke from serious surgery, and smiled.
• Watching the sun set through smoked filled clouds following a week long fire that came within a mile of my house.
• That feeling in my bones as they handed me my new-born child.
• The day the mold report came and stated our house was too moldy to inhabit.
• "Will you marry me?"
• "I Love you...anyway."

Last but not least..."Happy Mother's Day, Mom."

Count your Memory Moments; hoard them, dust them off regularly; they are food for your soul. Treasure them.

More importantly...propagate them freely. Life is short.

Especially on your...37th Mother's Day...

As always, Nature prevails.

Chicken Trails back on Track

Two day old poultry of geese, turkeys and chickens grace our lives - yet again. One of our local ranch stores got their yearly boarders of geese, turkeys, ducks and chickens. Cackle Hatchery had already mailed our chicken order so it was soooo easy to justify...JUST a few additions to the already large chicken family en route! Yesterday we brought home a couple turkeys and geese; today 2 ducks. Presto; the new Hasty Acres poultry flock is complete!


"EXCUSE ME, but you're hoggin' the water bowl"!

The larger poultry waterer at the other end of the sheep tank seems to be the playground for the geese and turkeys so we added a few small water bowls on this end, for the lit'ler guys. The water levels don't last long and the chicks do more swimming than drinking!

Most of these chicks are too small to easily reach into the chick feeder so we sprinkled a generous amount of feed on the paper towels. Most is wasted during the daily paper changes but the chicks seem to eat more this way. And even at 2 days old, a few of the chicks already know to scratch around in it besides the initial pecking instinct. Mother Nature gives these little guys a quick start!

We bought 5 different breeds of pullets and 3 different cockerels, with plans to bring together certain breeds that will propagate a combination of broad traits into the flock. We're hoping to combine productive layers, tasty meat as well as natural tendencies to set, to allow a natural growth of the flock.

1. -White Leghorn pullets (female), white eggs, almost daily layers, but non-setters.
2. -Americauna pullets, green, blue, pink and brown eggs, multi-colored birds that are good setters, tasty meat.
3. -White Rock pullets, fast growers, good layers of brown eggs.
4. -Light Brahma pullets, large birds, fairly good layers of brown eggs, good setters.
5. -Dark Cornish pullets, excellent tasting meat birds, fair egg layers of brown eggs, good setters.
6. -Americauna, Cornish and Rock Cockerels to hopefully support the tinted eggs, tasty meat, quicker growth and natural setting tendencies.
   

The turkeys, ducks and geese will also provide meat that does not contain medicines and pesticides. As an added benefit, the geese love to eat goat-head stickers which plague our yard; the entire flock will hopefully keep down the persistent hoards of grasshoppers that graze across our property and garden every year, eating everything in sight!

It seems more and more people are raising chickens. Articles are popping up in magazines; more cities are allowing poultry raising within city limits; poultry websites are growing and the building of chicken houses is growing into an art-form! And some inner city chicken stories are worth retelling...for a long time.

Thinking about a few hens and some home-grown, healthy eggs? Leave a comment, ask questions. We'd be glad to help - OR - send you somewhere for helpful answers.

Hasty Acres chicken tracks...are back! Weekly updates ahead.

Nature prevails.

Pawprints in the Sand

We lost a set of kitty paw prints in our sandbox today. Our Blazee lost her fight with renal failure.

I believe life begins a lot harder than it leaves; one second she was crying...the next, peace took her to wherever kitties go, who Love with all they're worth. There is a large void in our world - DH's world particularly; she was his shadow from her first whisper of a hiss as a day old lump of black, wiggly fur, fourteen years ago.

She took on the world like a miniature tigress with her first step, ran like the light and was a complete wild-cat to most, except her immediate family. With us, she could never get her fill of pets and chin rubs and ear scratches, nor did she ever stop giving her Love in the form of licks and burying her head in our bent elbows or rubbing our cheeks; her purr-box worked till the very end - even considering the pain and anguish she must have endured in her anemic, skin-and-bones state of being, over the past weeks.

Most of her life entailed free run of 7 acres and all the surrounding farm fields her little legs could handle. Kitty, my son's large orange tiger cat, was her only nemesis. I believe Kitty lived for the times he could corner Blazee up a tree. She'd scream like a tortured soul - which of course brought us to the rescue; we'd duly chastise Kitty, and the game was over...for a few days. Truth be told, I'm sure she could have taught Kitty more lessons than he ever dreamed he'd need in one lifetime. But that was their life, their game. And of course - as her good, loyal, devoted staff, we did our part.

Our struggle began about a month ago with blood work and a diagnosis of Renal Failure. We did the sub-cutaneous Lactated Ringers for a week, it helped a bit, but put her through more pain than it saved; one week was enough. We gave her a smorgasbord of soupy, kitty fare to keep her hydrated, but her overactive kidneys ran all liquids through her just as quickly as she swallowed.

We waited...and waited, giving her attention and saying our good-byes as the moments presented themselves. It is a weighty power, this control we hold over our pets life and death, a two-edged sword...to kill...or not to kill - under the auspices of humanity.

Today, it became obvious her kidneys were no longer doing their job and she was in pain. It was time. And our hearts bled.

A 5 foot tall, Russian Olive tree, now stands guard over her.

She will be missed...forever. God-speed, dear Blazee.

Good or bad, large or small, animal or mineral...Nature prevails.

ALONG THE BACK ROADS OF YESTERDAY: Memory Trails

The book is here! Along The Back Roads of Yesterday by Oris George is now available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble, and on Oris' website.

Oris George, has a love affair with words . His writing began early in life, his talent innate, and his stories - unforgettable, as you will quickly learn inside the pages of Along The Back Roads of Yesterday.

Yesterday...means different things to us all. To Oris, yesterday is about his youth on a farm in Colorado where chores were unending, food came from scratch, and Love was - well - just part of everyday living. Life unfolded to Oris through daily (sometimes hourly) lessons, and were sometimes garnered from his buddy Henry, his mule, Red, Homer the goat (who had a passion for keeping Oris' little brother in the outhouse), and so many other people and experiences in his youth.

One of my favorite stories in this unforgettable book is called, A Perfect Understanding. Oris weaves a touching memory about Bert, whom the town judges as a useless, dirty, aging person of little value, an out of control Palomino mule, his summer-long interactions with Bert as Bert trains this apparently useless animal, and the inevitable life-lesson learned.

"Mom was convinced Bert owned only one pair of bib overalls, and she knew that they had never seen the inside of a washing machine. Tobacco juice stained his thick, greying beard. A greasy baseball cap crowned a head of long, wild, unruly grey hair. He lived down under the hill behind the feed store on a straggly little 2 acre farm surrounded on all four sides by cottonwood trees and tall brush. The small dilapidated barn and the one-room cabin reminded me of Snuffy Smith's place in the Sunday funny papers."

"Fall passed and winter came again. Bert worked with his mule several hours a day. On Saturdays, I begged Mom to let me go to town with her and Dad so I could visit Bert. She didn't think I should spend so much time with Bert. She'd say, 'He doesn't bathe, shave or change clothes and isn't the right example for a growing boy.' "

" 'Aah, Mom,' I'd say. Bert was fun to be around, and he treated me like a man-full-grown."

By Rodeo Day in September, the real Bert - and his Dunfee Mule - overcame seemingly insurmountable odds.

"The loudspeaker crackled and the announcer said, 'Our own Albert Montague, formerly of Warren, Tennessee, has agreed to give us a demonstration ride on Stella, his gaited mule.' "

"Bert rode to the front of the grandstand, tipped his derby to the crowd, and Stella bowed. Turning Stella to the left, they moved out at a foxtrot. The crowd was silent. Halfway around the arena, Stella changed to another gait. The crowd went wild! Whistling and shouting, the spectators poured out of the bleachers like a giant wave and surrounded Bert and Stella. Hands were extended to Bert.

A new Bert, and Stella - no longer the Dunfee mule, exited the arena that day in 1945."

Titles like A Man Full-Grown and His Donkey, A Volcano on the River, Sounds Like a Plan (one of Oris' favorite sayings!), Little Man and a Naked Impression fill the pages of Along The Back Roads of Yesterday.

The war years of the 1940's held different values, different finances, different feelings. Oris immediately brings you back to those times through his stories, takes you back to those years when life really was simpler, sometimes harsher, but always real; living close to the land, steeped in family ties and hard work, Oris' yesterdays will live forever in your heart.

Only $9.32 from Barnes and Noble, this book is a must-read for your bedside table. Treat yourself to your personal copy of Along The Back Roads of Yesterday...today.

As always, Nature prevails.

Boot trails: shades of yesterday

It’s never too late to write a book; Bud Scranton from Prowers County, Colorado, has grandchildren. He will host his first book-signing tomorrow for Boot Tracks, There and Back, Thursday, January 13th, at the Senior Center in Lamar, from 10 am to 12 noon.

The first title for Bud’s book was Letters to my Grandchildren, which is the main reason he wrote the book – to insure that his grandchildren knew how different life was in the ‘30’s. “Life did a flip-flop after the war,” Bud said. "Life changed! I wanted my grandchildren to know that.” Bud went on to explain that the final title, Boot Tracks, There and Back, “…just fit! There were boots…and the tracks…all along the way. Well, it just fit.”

“It brought back the good memories, but I had to also relive some of the tragedies”, Bud said, as we chatted about his book. He said the hardest part was keeping the chapters “…short, simple and to the point.”

I asked Bud if he had any advice for other, promising authors. He hit the three high points that every writer needs to follow on their road to successful publication;

1. Keep it simple!

2. Write what inspires you, write from your heart.

3. Write the chapters out first, then go back, later, and edit.

Lola Shrimplin quoted Scranton in the Lamar Ledger last week, "This is brand new ground for me. I`ve never sold a book before. I`ve sold a lot of things."

Jan Verhoeff writes on one of her websites, http://acewriters.com/ , “Scranton’s dedication to life in southeastern Colorado, his family and neighbors is evident in his book. Weather darkened skin, wrinkled by the sun surrounds clear blue eyes when he speaks to you directly, sharing his memories of life on the prairies of Colorado.” On her Lamar website, http://lamarco.us/blog/?p=853., Verhoeff says, “Scranton, a survivor of the ’30′s dust bowl days, details his efforts to bring sheep to Colorado. Walking a path of determination he wore the soles off many a pair of boots to make it there and back, again and again.”

As I listened to Bud tonight, I heard a Love of life, an energy that evades many people half his age. I heard strength and pride as well as humility and kindness.

This book belongs on our bedside tables, a reminder to all of us that life is precious, short and so very much what we make of it. We get out what we put in; we are remembered for what we leave behind. Bud Scranton’s written act of Love for his grandchildren will endure forever – both in print, and in the hearts of his loved ones.

Boot Tracks, There and Back, is available...tomorrow at the senior center, at the bookstore in Lamar on main street by the train station, as well as at Amazon , and at Barnes and Nobles.

As always, Nature prevails.

Trails of Children, Everywhere

I was pondering the making and growing of children, this morning. Not a subject often bantered about. But in my mind, the most important job we hold - as a human race.

I understand that in a perfect state of being, continuing to create children in society's present manner, is ideal and beautiful - from a philosophical perspective. During the moment two potential parents are at their closest, that a new being evolves from that Love and bonding, is - well - the stuff about which poets and philosophers have written for eons.

Yet realistically - particularly considering the problems we create in this society when children are created NOT in such philosophical bliss, what then? And even if they are, is this simplistic situation, the ultimate avenue for the continuation of our society?

Children created and raised in less than perfect households - children neglected and abused, not only involuntarily embrace a tortured existence to varying degrees, but sometimes, grow up to lead us. Hitler was an abused child, as were other historical leaders. With each generation, our children will recreate our world, over and over again. Yes, I believe they are truly - society's most valuable resource.

Let's look at how we handle that resource. First, let me preempt this continued discussion with a disclaimer; I do not - under any circumstances, believe that we need yet - more government intervention in our little lives; nohow, nowhere, notime.

So let's continue from a philosophical approach, which will - hopefully - grow into an educational approach; maybe someday, solutions to this problem will evolve into a more positive, more intellectual, more enlightened and aware system...for the improved future of our world.

Society trains and prepares it's citizens for important jobs;

-Doctorates in Psychology to heal problematic emotional situations in life. Why do we not preempt these problems and train our parents in this area BEFORE the problems are created? Do we test parents emotionally to assure our society that this paramount position is in healthy hands?

-We train our economists with Bachelor and Doctorates to keep our world finances in order. Do we train our parents in this area? Do they have degrees in how to save monies for the children they so freely create, how to make sure their finances have adequate reserves to cover child-rearing expenses such as education, etc?

-Most corporations and governmental agencies screen their applicants for important positions such that their companies flourish. How do we screen the parents in which we place the future of the world? Why is that not given the same import, the same attention, the same educational and psychological health requirements? Is the job of producing the next generation...not important enough to require, no - mandate - the best situation for child-rearing?

Instead, we leave child-rearing to " mother's and father's intuition". What exactly, is that? I could NOT find an exact definition. I encourage you to search out this basis...on which we place - the future of our world.

If we take a hard, thorough look at our history - in this new perspective of child-rearing, we might decide we need a 'new plan'. That is, if we care about our future on this planet.

How can our society implement this new approach? Certainly NOT by more government regulation; certainly not by genocide or other 'after-the-fact' solutions. Certainly NOT by letting our children run wild and free, without structure. So how do we solve this problem?

So far, no new solutions exist. And I have few clues myself, about any solutions. But I believe in my soul of souls, that an enormous problem exists, in desperate need of change.

Without any new ideas, we maintain our present system of procreation...anytime, anywhere, any reason and certainly without training or preparedness to any degree. And the resulting continuation/re-creation of a society that is just as unstable, uneducated, unhealthy....as are so many of it's children, waiting their time to take positions of power and leadership over us.

If you are so moved, the following website from a prolific author on this subject, Alice Miller, can provide new, innovative and powerful insights into the ultimate connection between society and the children it creates. http://www.alice-miller.com/index_en.php?page=2. One of her publications on this subject, Prisoners of Childhood, gave me insight not gained through other writings by other authors.

Since my 60-something enculturation entailed the acceptance of an occasional spanking (on the backside only), when the situation warranted, I still grapple with this author's - and our present social services, etal., perspective of absolutely no spanking at all. Parents must have control of their children, to keep them safe and guide them into healthy, educated, responsible paths. Children - in order to function in a healthy society, MUST learn to abide by rules and regulations. Chaos never did anything...except provide theories for higher math books.

So, how we can accomplish that balanced arena of control and training - without any spanking, is difficult for me to accept. Let continued research find the answers.

But "discipline" and "violence" - MUST BE - worlds apart.

I ask that you contemplate this problem. If it takes a 'village' to raise a child, it may take a 'society' - with it's best interest at heart...to propagate a better world.

As always, Nature prevails.

TRAILS OF NATURE; Everywhere

Nature is everywhere, and everyone has a unique relationship with the universe around them. Some are satisfied with the morning sun shining next to their coffee cup through the window of their 17th floor apt in New York City. Others crave the danger and interaction with Nature on the slopes of Mt. Everest. Some people can not kill an ant, their respect and awe of Nature is so complete and pervasive. One way or another, most of us interact with Nature, even if only to shovel the snow from our sidewalks or shake the rain from our coats.

Whatever your relationship with Nature, the point is – you have one, as Nature IS the air we breathe, the land we walk upon, the food we eat, the breezes in our trees and the sunshine that begins and ends our days – whether we see it or not.

My connection with Nature includes a deeper than physical relationship; I doubt I will ever be capable of explaining it succinctly, but this connection includes the need to share it.

Nature’s power is obvious through her volcanoes, tsunamis and plate tectonics, while the awe of her beauty is clear through her sunsets, sunrises and wildlife. Life – its origins, evolution and oddities, both on Earth and throughout the universe, are complex, and in reality – still new and unexplored by humanity.

What are your thoughts about Nature? Do you dream of the future flight of the Condor and the Eagle, as told in Incan prophecy? Do you ski through snow-laden slopes? Do you revel in the coolness and buoyancy of her waters through an early morning swim? Do you enjoy the laughter and innocence of children through your day-care services? Or is your passion exercised through chasing tornadoes for your weather related position at NOAA. All questions, concerns or comments will be addressed; let’s explore and share the trails of Nature.

As always, Nature prevails.