Pat Conroy on Goodness
9
05, 2018
7
05, 2018
A Tale of Canna Lilies and Irises
The urge to dig in the dirt attacks me every spring no matter where I live.
I miss certain elements of all my gardens. Things like the columbine and poppies of Colorado, Tennessee irises, rhododendron in Connecticut, and the lilacs of Kentucky to name a few.
Often I was able to transplant favorites from place to place. Sometimes the climate differences between states meant plants couldn’t thrive in the new locale.
Our return to Texas last year meant a return to familiar gardening with an added benefit I was able to reunite a favorite garden flower (canna lilies) and my antique birdbath.
When we lived in Texas before our move to Colorado, I transplanted Rose of Sharon, cannas, and monkey grass from my family home in Austin to our home in Houston.
Because canna lilies love the Texas heat and are prolific, I shared plants with friends and family. One of those friends let me come dig some of the cannas I’d given her for my new garden here.
I inherited the birdbath, which has been around since 1930, from my family home in Austin, where it sat in the backyard with cannas around it. After the birdbath moved to Colorado with us, it’s returned to our backyard once again surrounded by its cannas. I added the butterfly plants to attract Monarch butterflies to our wildlife habitat.
Hurricane Harvey’s floodwaters were too much for a very large, tall pine tree that stood where the flowerbed is now.
The same friend offered clumps of her Aunt Reece’s irises for the birdbath bed in the side yard. I’m sure they’ll thrive beside the lemon tree.
The previous homeowner left that birdbath and the one on the ground. The swan is a holdover from our antique shop days. Altogether, the little flowerbed invites the robins and cardinals to stop.
The yard is a work in progress. Soon the hot days of a Texas summer will limit my gardening, but in the meantime I’m enjoying myself.
Digging in the dirt is a great stress reliever for me and the fruits of my labor bring immeasurable reward. Who doesn’t feel a sense of joy and peace walking in a garden with the aroma of flowers and the sound of birds chirping?
2
05, 2018
30
04, 2018
My Favorite Poem
April has been National Poetry Month. All month Poets.org has provided opportunities and activities to celebrate poetry and poets.
I couldn’t let the celebration pass without posting one of my favorite poems about a realio, trulio, little pet dragon named Custard. I read Ogden Nash’s poem The Tale of Custard the Dragon to my children and grandchildren so often they can quote it even today.
I love Nash’s nonsensical, humorous style. Reviewers criticize him for taking liberties with spelling and rhyme. I find those liberties delightful because I relate to the same habit.
Just ask my children and grandchildren. I’ve always called them each by a nonsensical name: Brooke became Brook E; Abby – Abby Me Gail; Faith – Faith-e-foo; Morgan-Morgan from org; Landry-Landy Pandy, J.B.-J.Beetle; Sara-Sa-RAH; and Stephanie-Steph-fon-ey.
I’m reminded of the poem every time I sit on the back porch and see my metalwork dragon. Named, you guess it, Custard.
In case you haven’t read the poem:
The Tale of Custard the Dragon
Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called hum Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.
Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio daggers on his toes.
Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,
They all sat laughing in the little red wagon
At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.
Belinda giggled till she shook the house,
and Blink said Weeck! which is giggling for a mouse,
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,
And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.
Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,
His beard was black, one leg was wood;
It was clear that the pirate meant no good.
Belinda paled, and she cried Help! Help!
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,
And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.
But up jumped Custard snorting like an engine,
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm,
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.
The pirate gaped at Belinda’s dragon,
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,
He fired two bullets, but they didn’t hit,
And Custard gobbled him, every bit.
Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,
No one mourned for his pirate victim.
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate
Around the dragon that ate the pirate.
But presently up spoke little dog Mustard,
I’d been twice as brave if I hadn’t been flustered.
And up spoke Ink and up spoke Blink,
We’d have been three times as brave, we think,
And Custard said, I quite agree
That everybody is braver than me.
Belinda still lives in her little white house,
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,
And her realio, trulio little pet dragon.
Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.
If you enjoyed The Tale of Custard the Dragon and would like to read other poems by Ogden Nash, check out this chronological list of all his work: http://www.ogdennash.org/ogden_nash_titles.htm
27
04, 2018
Make Way for Ducklings
A Blog by Chicken Wrangler Sara
I arrived home from Bible Study last Monday and Rachel told me, “The ducklings are in the furthest Bantam run.” To be fair, she had asked about getting ducks. I had just absentmindedly said “sure.”
This is how Tipsy, Topsy, and Turvey came to live on Miller Farm.
Tuesday morning I went out to check on the various fowl in the back yard. The ducklings had managed to escape their run and were visiting the chickens.
I hope this is not an omen of things to come.
They are really quite cute and very different from chickens. They have rounded beaks and walk with their necks stretched out. It makes me think of an elegant swan rather than a goofy chicken.
Ducks also have webbed feet. Of course I knew this but now I’ve seen it up close and personal. They use these to get around in water – like a pond – which is not found on Miller Farm.
We have a small tub for them to use for now. Eventually we will get a child’s swimming pool.
I can’t help but think of Robert McCloskey’s children’s book, Make Way for Ducklings, the Caldecott Award winner in 1941.
Perhaps I can write another one titled The Ducks of Miller Farm.
25
04, 2018
Words for Writers – Flaubert
With special thanks to Edie Melson for lovely graphics and her extraordinary grace in sharing her beautiful work.
23
04, 2018
A Lizard Poem for National Poetry Month
The Academy of American Poets established April as poetry month in 1996 to encourage people about the pleasure of reading poetry. It’s all explained here.
In honor of poetry month, here’s a little story about poetry writing.
Years ago, my second oldest grandson and I were sitting at the kitchen table discussing his homework. He’s home schooled, and I’d promised his parents to work with him while he was visiting.
Like his daddy (my son), my grandson hated homework. The thought of poetry homework made the task even less appealing, especially when the swimming pool outside was calling.
He twirled his pencil and starred outside at the squirrel climbing the bird feeder. He ate a Pop Tart. He slipped away to play a game of chess with his Pepa. Next thing I knew the rascal was in the swimming pool.
I called him back to task.
Moments later, I caught him at the window. Again.
This time he watched a chameleon on the Maple tree by the kitchen window.
Before I could speak, he pointed to the laptop on the table. “I wrote the poem already.”
This is what I read on the computer screen:
Lizard Poetry
Lazy lizards leap from leaf to leaf
As green as a Sprite can
Lizards like to hide under the weather
Running, hiding, and sneaking around
Crazily, hastily, and hurriedly leaving their tails behind them
The miniature lizards are tiny compared to the big, blue sky
That grandson is off to college next year. I’m sure he’s forgotten about his lizard poem. I haven’t.
I learned a lesson that day about how little boys can multi-task when you think they’re playing.
20
04, 2018
But Not Mosquitoes
A blog by Chicken Wrangler Sara
The text message conversation on the left is between our daughter and me.
It is taking place during preparation for the annual Gilbert and Sullivan performance at my school.
At this time of year my “part time” job becomes “full time/over time.” This is why I responded as I did.
That being said, Rachel brought home a fish.
His name is Jeffrey. He is a beta fish and he is most likely a she. Because one is a lonely number, Rachel bought another fish.
This is Xibalba. Being another beta fish, he lives in a separate tank.
Rachel is an animal science major and cares deeply for all things breathing. Still concerned that her fish would be lonely, she also bought them each their own water snail.
Jeffrey and Anteous the snail get along great.
Xibalba and Sombra, the other snail, do not. In fact, Xibalba kept attacking Sombra and making him fall from the top of the tank. To protect Sombra, Rachel separated the two.
Bill is also an animal lover and Rachel offered to give Sombra to Bill as his pet snail. Bill was thrilled and Sombra is much happier being with Bill.
On the way to school this week I noticed mosquito bites on Bill’s arm. When I asked him about them he said there is a mosquito in his room. He called it his pet mosquito.
I will accept the addition of fish and snails to Miller Farm but not mosquitoes!
18
04, 2018
16
04, 2018
In Search of Texas Bluebonnets
Spring in Texas brings bluebonnets. People will travel miles to find the one perfect spot to snap a bluebonnet picture.
Some are professional photographers. Most are family members looking for a cluster of the state flower in which to pose their loved ones and pets.
Highways become a nightmare of start and stop traffic on April weekends. No trespassing signs wave in the breeze on barbed wired fences surrounding private property. Enthusiasts ignore the caution as they seek the best field of bluebonnets.
Too many picture takers also trample the blooms.
Saturday we braved the unusually cold, wet, and windy weather seeking a patch of bluebonnets for pictures. The stop and go traffic of the peak Easter weekend was gone and, sadly, so were the larger patches of flowers along US 290.
We ventured on to the annual Bluebonnet Festival in Chappell Hill hopeful that taking the less traveled back roads coming home would yield the perfect spot.
We parked on the backside of town and walked to where the vendors’ tents displayed their wares. Along the way, we passed a patch of bluebonnets in a yard. Fearful that it could be our only option for Finn’s first bluebonnet photo, we stopped to snap a picture.
As you can see, Finn was unimpressed and Buster didn’t care to join us.
After visiting the fair, we drove out the backway along the less traveled country roads. We did find a small patch of bluebonnets.
The storm clouds were breaking up and blue sky was peeking through but the wind came in fierce gusts.
We did manage to get a few great shots.
Next year I think we’ll join all the other bluebonnet picture seekers for the peak weekend.