Finally, spring is here to stay. No more frost or freeze is expected. It's been an excellent morel mushroom year; the grandson ended up with a bushel or so of them yesterday, although the season is about over. He's had his best morel year yet, and Cliff and I, and several others, have enjoyed his efforts.
I was experimenting with raised-bed gardening this year, but I think I've seen all I need to. The topsoil and compost I bought for the thing are going to get scooped up and thrown in my little garden out back. It required too much watering to suit me. Knowing me, I probably was doing something wrong, but I'm going back to what I know. I have the tomato plants and pepper plants out back across the fence, and I planted a few green beans.
I'm enjoying my walk a lot more now, since I can go barefoot. I love feeling my feet touch the earth, and swish through the tall grass. I love going barefoot in tilled soil, but these days I'd rather not blacken my feet the way I've done for years. My mom used to scrub my feet with Comet of something (she called all the brands "scouring powder"). Even then, they stayed pretty black. One thing about it, I know how to clean the bottoms of black feet: Walk around in the early morning dew barefoot: that makes my feet almost as clean as a newborn baby's.
In current coronavirus news, Missouri's governor has more or less turned everyone loose to work, go to church, and go to work, except for the big-city dwellers. Cliff and I will still take precautions. I would, however, go to church here in town, for the simple reason that there's often no more than twenty people at either place I attend, and I have no problem with being in a room with people as long as we sit six feet or more apart. The only time I get to sing with other people is when I'm in church, and I've missed that.
It's harder to think of material for a blog entry when we're really not doing much worth talking about. Let's see, I just finished reading "The Museum of Desire" by Jonathan Kellerman. It was a who-done-it type story, which I always enjoy. Cliff asked me to pick a library book for him to read; I happened to see a book by a familiar author that was ready to borrow, and apparently I picked a winner. When he reads while he peddles his exercise bike, I hear him chuckling frequently; I tell myself, "My job here is done." If you're curious, the book is "The Lost Continent" by Bill Bryson. I intend to read it myself when I get a chance; as I understand it, the guy just travels around the country to small towns and talks about them in a humorous way. My friend Margeret, in Washington state, reads my blog and likes to know what I'm reading. She and I like similar books; I've gotten some of my best reads off her list.
The hummingbirds are showing up now, and the ants have already discovered their feeders. Some things never change.
I moved the chicks into a larger space. The wire fence is on top because they can fly out now. They really don't seem to need the light for warmth any more; I think I'll take it away and throw a blanket over the top of their little home at night. I've moved them to the back porch now; when they're too big for the box they're in, I'm going to have to figure something out, because I'm not sure where I'll put them. They are all the same breed, Buff Orpington. It's a gentle breed, which is why I chose these. I've shown no favoritism to any of them; in fact, I can't tell them apart. But there is one chick who is much tamer than the others. When I hold my hand in front of her, the other two run away, but she climbs right on my hand. I guess even chickens are born hatched with differing personalities. But wait, since I can't tell them apart, how do I know it's the same chick? Well, I just do. Call it women's intuition.
That's all I've got, folks! Be safe out there!
Peace!
We just finished a dinner of nothing but mushrooms. I had good intentions of making a square meal and having mushrooms as a side, but we got side-tracked by a trip to a granddaughter's house. Since I'm doing everything I can to keep my stomach agreeable, I don't drink coffee now, but Cliff does. We've bought coffee beans at Costco for years, and now we can't stand pre-ground coffee. It's still possible, I'm sure, to buy coffee beans at the big grocery stores and Walmart, but we aren't going there while this virus is around. Family members will shop for us, but how do you know what kind of coffee to tell others to buy for you, when you don't even know the choices? I attempted to order our coffee on Costco online, but like most everything else, it wasn't available. Searching on Amazon a while back, I found some Columbian coffee beans and ordered them. For the amount that was in the bag it was more costly than our Costco brand, but not outrageously so. Both of us liked it. When we'd used about 2/3 of that coffee, I re-ordered it and was notified it would be at least two weeks before we'd get it, but they did let me order it. I finally got notice a couple of days ago it has been sent, and will arrive Monday. I crossed my fingers in hopes our almost empty bag of beans would last till then, but it didn't.
I remembered a conversation I had with granddaughter Monica a few weeks ago, when she told me they had gotten a Costco card and then showed me the coffee beans they bought there, the same ones we buy. So this morning I instant messaged her and asked if we could have a cup of her coffee beans to get Cliff by till ours came; of course she said we could. I made some snickerdoodles, we bagged half a dozen of them for Monica and Gerald, and off we went.
I asked Cliff if he was OK with Gabe riding along: Like all dogs, he always wants to go. But we never take him if we'd be leaving him alone in the car. Cliff said Gabe could go, and away we went, fifteen miles to Oak Grove. Now, Oak Grove is not a large city. It's big enough to have a small Super Walmart and several fast-food places, but it still has a small-town feel. We lived south of Oak Grove for seven years, although it wasn't nearly as big then; but I thought we were fairly familiar with the town.
We had only been to visit Monica and Gerald once, when they first brought their baby home from the hospital, but neither of us were quite sure how to get there again; so I had asked Monica for the address to put in the GPS. Wouldn't you know, that particular address was one of those peculiar ones that the GPS got wrong That usually only happens in the country; our trailer house, in fact, has an address that the GPS thinks is west of here in somebody else's pasture. If we have to direct anyone here, we use the grandson's address at the old house.
So there we were, two geezers and a shaggy Schnauzer, driving around first one city block and then another after the GPS told us we had already arrived. Cliff does not take this sort of fiasco lightly, so I called Monica before things got too serious. She talked us the rest of the way to their house, and we got out of the car, leaving Gabe in there alone... but we weren't going in the house, just chatting with them outside. We traded six cookies for a cup of coffee beans, and Monica brought the baby out so we could see her in the flesh again; this brightened up our day, even though we couldn't hold her. I think Cliff forgot all about getting lost. BUT...
As Cliff was getting in the car, he forgot Gabe was with us and stood talking to the kids with his car door open. Gabe bolted, and Monica's dog Suzy came running out to kill him. OK, she wouldn't have killed him, but she doesn't cozy up to other dogs easily and she seemed to think he was a threat. Gabe wasn't a bit worried about Suzy, because for the first time in his life he was a long way from home in a brand new environment with no restraints: He had to explore!
He went trotting briskly through the parking area where they live, stricken with a case of sudden deafness. I tried calling nicely, then began threatening him loudly as I hurried limping after him the best I could, with Cliff in the background letting anybody within a city block what he'd like to do to my dog. Gabe would stop to mark a spot in that uncharted territory, I'd draw nearer, and he'd head off again. He really wasn't running from me, he was just excited to see and smell all the new things, and never gave me so much as a glance over his shoulder. And he trots faster than I can run. Finally he stopped to mark a particularly intriguing clump of grass and I pounced, grabbed his collar, and ended his adventure.
He is now demoted, and won't get to ride with us anywhere unless one or the other of us will be staying in the car at all times. He does seem to understand that Cliff is mad at him, because he's sticking right by my side, which he hadn't been doing so much lately.
That's all the excitement I want for one day, and as Cliff naps beside me on the couch and with Gabe asleep against my leg, I realize it doesn't take much to wear these three musketeers out; I'm ready for a nap myself.
