Building the last nest

Today we moved, I hope for the last time. (I will not be moving to a retirement home or some such place any time in my life!) Our small apartment, aka the garage, has been transformed into an elegant, 1000 sq. ft. living space. We are several steps away from our daughter's house. The movers brought dozens of boxes and large pieces of furniture from the storage unit where they were awaiting this move. We hadn't seen this stuff for eight months, and never missed it.

After lots of going back and forth with our truck and the movers, dropping off large pieces to friends, the rugs to the cleaners, we settled in to unpacking and figuring out where to put everything and thinking about what to discard. We couldn't believe how much stuff we had that we didn't want or need. We are paring down, going light. Break down those cartons, take the old t.v.s out to the alley, trade tables and lamps and couches with our daughter. I start to unpack the kitchen and put everything away and wonder what I was thinking when this stuff was packed up months ago.

What still astonishes me is the beauty of the place, especially the stairs to the top floor. The stairs are of the same soft cork flooring we have throughout and they are wrapped with bamboo edgings. The ground floor has a fairly low ceiling (this was once a grotty garage!) but oh, how lovely it is now with the compact kitchen and the wonderful lighting. We kept on unpacking so that we could see the entirety of the living room and the dining room. And why do we have so many tables? The top floor with its high ceiling under the rafters looks great and spare.

After a full day of this, we were dog tired and had to go home to the ranch to regroup. Tomorrow we'll go back and finish unpacking all the cartons of dishes and books. Lola, our little dog, was pleased to find her old couch and her passel of toys.

Still nest building, even as seniors! But the best thing is that Quincy, our grandson, lives so close and will be here on a regular basis.

We worked all day, and at the end of it there are still six large cartons to unpack.

The Best Christmas

He's just six, and sits in the back seat of our car crammed with leftovers from the Christmas celebrations and the dog kennel and a very few of the many gifts he received yesterday at his mother's house. I wanted more than anything to take him home with us to our ranch, and he was eager to go despite having a cold. For his Christmas gift we gave him an outfit to wear to be "Ox-cart man" (his favorite book): tan pants, white shirt and black string tie, green vest, black hat and boots. We had made him a real ox cart out of an old canoe carrier that was too big to bring to his house, but we brought some photos. Packing the car, Quincy checks to make sure that the deer skull he received from the Meylans, being fragile, is packed correctly. It's going to be part of the museum.

Coming home we drive slowly past the barn where the ox cart is. "I have been thinking about this the whole way," says Quincy. I am looking at the incredibly stormy sky spitting droplets of the impending cold front. "And, also, I am thinking about my museum. My mind goes back and forth."

" It's so cold and raw," I observe. "Not a good day for being outside." I am envisioning a hot cup of coffee and reading the Sunday papers before the fire. "First we have to unload everything."

After many bags brought into the house, Quincy immediately puts on his jacket and boots and ox-cart man hat and sets out to investigate the ox-cart. This is light enough to haul around and when I next look out he is picking oranges and arranging them in the back of the cart. Soon he is knocking at the door with his load of fruit to sell to us. "It's for free!" he says. But my husband trades him the oranges for a fine wooden box. This goes on all day with acorns, Spanish moss, hickory nuts. All the while there is much conversation about why these products are needed, and by the minute the temperature is dropping and the wind is picking up. Quincy is not cold, but invigorated by the elements.

I finally get him to come in for lunch. (He eats to live) And then he's wanting to get a remote helicopter working. His grandpa helps with this and periodically we have a large dragonfly-like thing buzzing around the living room, dive bombing the dog, crashing into the plants while I am still trying to read the paper. But he's really interested in the ox cart. And his museum. And being outdoors.

This museum. The Quincy Museum of Natural History at Woodhills Ranch. We have been talking about the possibility of it for several months. We have a derelict cabin on our place, far from everything. We call it The Dentist Cabin. (Another blog.) Wild critters have pretty much ruined the place, crashing through the screening and soiling the floor. But I have long wished for having it restored for some purpose. Quincy is the guiding force for this and it is never far from his mind. (This is his second home and he knows just about every place on this 300 acres.) The Meylans have given me the wonderful gift of labor to make the museum happen.

Quincy loves collecting things- feathers from wild birds, and especially bones! Our dear friends, the Meylans, scientists, who are the ones who 'get it' about living on the edge of the Green Swamp, and are the principal inhabitants of our guest house, gave Quincy an incredible deer skull for a Christmas gift, and with it official tags. This skull had uneven antlers! So! The beginning of a museum has begun. In the cold windy afternoon we went out in the truck to assess the cabin where the museum will be. Quincy was clutching another bunch of bones (from an armadillo). We discuss how we can make the screening stronger, where we'll put some shelving, where we'll put the sign that says "Quincy's Museum of Natural History". And when we returned he insisted on tagging this new skull with the official tag.

Later, after supper and his bath, Quincy and I lie on his bed and read three books. By the time we have finished Knufflebunny free, Ox-Cart Man (for the hundredth time), the book Obama wrote for his kids and we have discussed how the Obama family took their dog to Hawaii, Quincy's eyes are at half mast, and I am done for the night.

In a perfect world I would have many such encounters with my other five grandchildren, but they live far away. I love them beyond imagining and think about them all the time. So, for now I feel blessed to have the day to day connection with Quincy. And I am blessed to have the community of friends who are nurturing this boy.

In a perfect world I would not have to think about the kids I know in this community who are cold tonight, maybe hungry after the Christmas blast of the holiday boxes of food are gone.. Our gigs of making food, funding jackets, providing gifts are never really enough. It humbles me.

Why I don't watch t.v. (mostly)

Most nights I clean up the kitchen after the wonderful dinner my husband cooks. Sunday nights, it is Sixty Minutes on t.v., a program I generally like, being the news hound I am. Tonight, at exactly seven p.m., there is no Sixty Minutes, only football (where they knock their heads silly for now, later for Alzheimer's) By the time I get the kitchen extra super clean, football is still on. As I say, "I am out of here.", my husband says that Sixty Minutes is about to start. I edge into the t.v. room and see that there is the beginning of multiple ads: Ciallis (don't need that!), cars ( my ancient Honda is just fine.) Health care opportunities (crap), and fast food (we eat everything from scratch and from our garden).

So, I am gone down to my studio, walking the several hundred yards in the moonlight to the warmth and squalor of my studio full of Christmas presents wrapping, ceramic glazing and finalizing the costume and sewing for Quincy's Christmas gift of the Ox-Cart Man extravaganza. (A whole costume and an actual kid sized ox cart) I wonder how we will transport this thing for him to see it on Christmas?

I am thinking about all the others, those dear others I know and care so much about in this holiday time. Have I included them in my thoughts and presents?

Nothing on t.v. is as interesting as the lives of you people I know; family and friends. This has been an incredible year.. I am still in love with this place where we live. I look up at the stars and and still weep for my friend Nidia who died before her time. I am amazed that our daughter and we sold our houses and found a home site we love. I am honored to be the grandma of so many wonderful children, especially Quincy who lives nearby and is constantly in our lives. Life tumbles on and we are so fortunate to have many friends and a huge family.

Who needs T.V.?

The Silence of a frosty night

This is the second night of this series of freezing weather. The moon, barely gibbous, illuminates the fields growing only frost, and the stars here in a place so far from any man made lights are awesome. I smell the smoke from a fire in the main house and I am cozy in my studio, happy to be finishing a quilt that I quite like.
There is a particular silence in very cold weather. I used to love the silence of new fallen snow when I lived in the north, and even here with frost brushing the land there is that silence of the land hunkering down and waiting, inviting me to think.
I think of the kids I know from volunteering in a local public school who are probably trying to keep warm this night in ramshackle trailers and shacks. Some of them do not have warm jackets. They are probably gathered around space heaters and the oven, if they have one. I think of the kids who actually have jackets but they need to have zippers fixed or a button replaced. I try to do this for them, but really, they need so much more.
I leave a check in the school office so that ten jackets can be bought. One cannot fix everything. It's just bird by bird trying to help.
And then I read about this disaster of a governor we now have who is putting on a multimillion dollar inaugural party, and wanting to dismantle our public schools. I just wish he would spend one cold night with Miguel and his seven siblings in a very small dwelling with little food and nothing comfortable where anxiety is the dominant emotion.

Winter Begins

The last couple of mornings there has been frost on the fields, and driving out to get the newspapers from the mailbox, I am glad for the heated car seat I set on "high". The thermometer says "38" this morning. There are brilliant reds of the grape leaves on the vines, chickens in the road, cows coming out of the swamp and hawks hunting. With my early cup of coffee I stop the car and get out to see what tracks are on the sandy road today. And I think about what needs to be done this day.
This is my life, my beloved routine in winter. Andy will have picked the oranges and squeezed the juice for breakfast. Lola, our little dog, will be nagging me to fix her food, no waiting! I put on the oatmeal and dispense the kibbles, start the laundry. I look out at the vegetable garden and I know that more frost damage is inevitable.
Later, I discover that the tomatoes are gone, as are the beans and the zinnias. But most of this fall garden are hardy collards, kale, cauliflower, broccoli, rutabagas, kohlrabi and peas. The lettuce looks fine too. Peppers are mostly gone. Later, as I walk out on the property, I notice what shrubs and plants have been bitten by the frost of last night. I do not mourn them. I know they will be back in February. Around the house and in the vegetable garden I can place covers over my favorites, bring in the orchids and tender things, but more and more, and not out of laziness, I let nature take it's course.
Working in my studio, I listen to NPR (all the pundits). Hearing yet another dissection of the "don't ask, don't tell" issue, I can't help thinking of the civil rights agony our country went through. I hear John McCain (who, by the way, has a lesbian daughter..go figure) saying that we can't let gays be human beings yet. They have to keep on lying about their sexuality. This kind of raw prejudice is so sad. My young friends have no problem, apparently the major ranks of the military have no problem. McCain is an old guy with who knows what issues, and he is out of step with the times.

Privacy and the wikileaks

I am following the wiki leaks stories in the papers and on NPR. There is such a voluminous amount of stuff and no sensible person could read it all. Actually, does it really matter?
I think about how the young people I know have to share everything every minute on their smart phones and other digital devices. It is the age of sharing every moment and there is so much data going back and forth(I am in this store, what do you think about buying this broccoli and where are you right this minute right now?)
In this age if you want to have any privacy you can think that there is so much data out there that in the sheer voluminous of it, you are anonymous. Actually, do you think that your parents would have the commitment to the drudgery of checking all those texts?
We live in a world of sharing every little thing thanks to the cell phone and instant computer communication. But I do believe that there are eyes out there watching us. Google Street view is creepy, I know that every transaction I make in a store is forever filmed. I take some comfort in the fact that anachronistically we live far away from civilization but I know that the fences are breached by Florida State vehicles because our land is in the public domain.
I have always been amazed as political scandals play out that the players just wrote on e mail or some other public connection about their actions. Doesn't anyone know that the only security is in face to face communication while in a walk in the woods? If you have such a huge data base for sharing information as the U.S. has had, it was bound to be breached. Probably not such a bad idea.
Believe in this day and age that everything you do is being watched by someone. So get those skeletons out of your closet. They will come back to haunt you.

What really interests me

"Do you think that this place is paradise?" asks my youngest sister as we are walking in the woods this morning.
"Yeah, it really is for me", I answer. "I cannot imagine another life." We are walking in a glade where the palmettos fold into the cypress swamp. I know this place well, I know what grows there and I can name the plants I see. My eyes sweep the scene from the forest floor to the tree tops and I am looking and looking, invited to that sunny glade, to that thickness of Spanish needles and perhaps a sandy place where I will see the footprints of all the critters who were there last night.
I am always asking the young people I know what really interests them. If one knows this, they can take it from there. No one asked me when I was young what I really was interested in. But a discerning person might have known that as a child I spent hours in the woods picking plants and looking at them. In all the places I lived, it was the plants I remember. I know when the snowdrops would appear by the side of the first house I lived in up north, where the hollyhocks would bloom. I fell in love with a man who cared about the magic of fiddle heads just emerging from the snowy earth and I fell in love with his mother who knew where lady slippers could be found in the woods in the spring.
In so many places it has been the plants I remember. From the trees in the parks of Rome when I was a child, to the mosses in Turkey, to the large forests of France, to the wonderful blonde landscapes of northern California, and the wooded trails we hike in the south east, I have examined it all with such interest.
So, as my sister knows, I am happy to be here, constantly doing my own kind of research on the plants that are here in paradise.
Follow your star.

Thankful

Here are kids at Lacoochee school preparing a Stone Soup meal. They are chopping and paring vegetables that will go into soup pots with some meat and seasonings and the stones, of course. Whoever gets a stone is lucky. The story of Stone Soup is well known, a sharing experience of how many hungry folks came together to make something all could enjoy.

Forty kids pared and peeled and chopped those vegetables I brought from our garden. While some kids did the prep, others were working on Thanksgiving cards, so everyone was busy.

I am amazed that the classes in this school do not celebrate holidays in the ways that connect school to home. They do not make sure that kids make gifts for their families. Nor do they decorate and celebrate for the usual American holidays. I am thinking about why this would be?

But I am thankful to be a volunteer in this remote school where I have learned so much about our culture. I am thankful to know so many wonderful kids who have taught me so much.

I am thankful that I have such a large and loving family who will surround the table tomorrow and eat the traditional turkey and salmon

Being Grandma

Quincy has just turned six and he's here for a few days while his mom studies for her law school exams. He's spent many many days with us over the years and he feels very comfortable here, building up memories that will take him beyond the lives of his grandparents. At six he's competent, observant, polite and funny. He really fits in here.

When we went today to a local nursery to purchase three memorial trees, Quincy and I walk into the office and the first thing we see is a large aquarium, kitty litter on its floor, and a large clean bowl of water. What could be living here? Quincy peers into a rock shelter and says, "Yellow rat snake!" Of course he's right and I feel so proud that he is beginning to know these things and recognize so many of the critters that live here. He knows the routes we take to get to things around here, and he knows the names and habits of many plants and human inhabitants. He's fearless about catching frogs and insects and as he flings his body around and gets scrapes and bruises I always cringe, and he always emerges from these accidents pretty much intact.

Now he wants to spend the night in his tent he's set up in the yard outside-the very last thing I want to do. So today, I hope that this idea will be forgotten as I tempt him into the house with the idea of watching "Charlotte's Web" before bed.

But tomorrow night I think I will have to be the grandma who really steps up to the plate. I will cram myself into the dratted tent (that I gave him for his birthday, what was I thinking?) and we will be more intimate than I'd want. I will curve my seventy year old bones into the back of this wiggly six year old, and we will listen to the sounds of the deer and the armadillos huffing and snorting in the yard. We will slap mosquitoes and I will tell Quincy the latest part of the story he finds so fascinating about how tools started.

We will admire the full moon and look at Orion. And then, finally, there will be total silence as he suddenly falls asleep in mid sentence. And I will be so thankful on the evening before Thanksgiving for all the blessings that are mine, even the shuffling of the armadillos and the lumps under my sleeping bag.

When will there be good news?

This is the view I see out the window over my desk. In this season the huge pink zinnias that grow in an old claw foot bathtub are covered with butterflies, relentlessly cheerful to remind me of the predictable repetition of the natural world.

And such a comfort that is in this last period when all the news was bad. My dear Friend, Nidia, died unexpectedly. She was sixty-one and there was so much left for her to do, so much of her joy to share. Her hundreds and probably thousands of friends are wild with grief. We gathered last evening for a memorial. So many hugs and tears and recollections of her life. Her three beautiful daughters and her husband and her Chilean family were magnificent, their faces so grief stricken and reflecting that strong beauty of this incredible mother who was so competent and generous to us all. The children in our school, where Nidia taught Spanish for so many years, wrote touching letters of condolence and decorated them with drawings. Producing these was not only such a gift to our community of Nidia's friends, it helped them- kids and friends through such a hard time.

So, today in the glorious blue of Florida fall, I took a long walk to look at the river and think about all Nidia meant to us, the person she was and how her life touched ours. It's going to take a long time for me to knit this knot into the fabric of my life. When someone you love dies before their time, it's so hard. And we vow to appreciate every day and every person more.

My daughter went to the memorial service with me. She knew Nidia well, and her small son was in Nidia's Spanish group. When he heard about Nidia's death, he cried and asked "How am I going to learn Spanish?" He drew a love heart for Nidia and I included it in my letter to the family.

I am realizing all over again how important it is for me to still stay connected and generous to family and friends. And the news will be getting better.

Cold Front

We are supposed to have cold weather tonight, even in the forties! Such a thrill for us here in the heart of global warming. The broccoli plants are heading up and the garden is bursting with all kinds of greens, peas, beans, chard, onions and salad greens. Right now there is no need to buy any vegetables except tomatoes and pumpkins.

The baby squirrels come out in the morning and play, running and chittering and wrestling like middle school siblings. The regular cardinals and titmice and wrens are at the feeders. The chimney swifts left shortly after the hummingbirds, so now we can make a fire in the fireplace tomorrow evening.

Steve the painter and his son are renovating all the teetering banisters and steps up to the porches. I am impressed with the high quality of the work and the careful attention to detail. These guys move everything, clean everything, put stuff back, fix things they see, and vote Democratic. They have a faithful group of people who want their work, but as with everyone these days, they are eager to be employed.

Such a lovely day after the heavy rains of yesterday that brought magic green to the pastures. I am always depressed on rainy and overcast days. And this week that brought irritating and hard things left me flat. So, this day of brilliant sunshine and blue sky and time to work on my latest quilt and walk in the fields was welcome.

I am coming to accept the reality of this election. There is either a mean spirit or a total lack of appreciation for helping those in our American society in need. Kind of feels like a selfish fear, a stoppage of moral feeling at the third grade level. Or probably ignorance.

This week in the classroom where I volunteer, there was a small skinny seven year old who had complained all week of pain in his back. Even in the midst of a lovely and exciting project he seemed wan. When he approached his teacher and said he wanted to go to the office and "check out", I said to him, "Can I look?" and I raised his shirt and saw raw scabs where he had clearly been beaten. (He said that his sister had pushed him.) Probably this child, who had complained of pain all week, was trying to make the best of a really bad situation. He may have cracked ribs, who knows? But this child's parents are probably illegal Mexicans with so many issues, who knows? I wonder if Rick Scott looking at these wounds on the skinny brown back of a seven year old, could in good conscience cut off funds for the American social safety net?

I want to believe that Americans, independent and cranky as we are, are good hearted. But as of this moment, I am not sure. What I am sure of is that the people who voted in the tea party candidates must be fearful and not thorough thinkers. Their lives are metered out in sound bites and tweets.
As I have said, the garden grows magnificently.

Joy in the Classroom

When I drive up to Lacoochee Elementary School on my afternoons of volunteering in a second grade classroom, I never fail to feel those delicious small hands reaching out for me. "Miss Molly! Miss Molly!" Many of these children are known to me from years past and from the summer camp I have had at my house. I know them, and their parents. We are always happy to see each other.

Today, as on many days, I have tons of stuff needing to be delivered to Rachel's class. The kids are returning from lunch and they hold open the classroom door so I can bring in the large pumpkin, 25 pounds of clay, and a bag of apples and peanut butter for our snack.

Seth always runs to me for the first of many hugs, Xavier with the amazing dreadlocks hangs back, confident he has a big place in my heart. Sky is full of dimples and smiles. Daniel, who has some kind of language disability regards me with such an inviting expression. He knows that clay is his Thing and just for this afternoon, all will be right with the world. Today there is a new student, Cassie. She is a petite child with that pale country visage and haunted eyes of a child in turmoil. What I think of as the Mexican girl posse, those extremely cute and competent little girls with the bouncing pony tails, sit tight in their seats, just knowing that they are so good they'll get the very first pieces of fresh moist clay. Which of course they do.

After we hollow out and carve the pumpkin and install a flashlight inside and turn off the classroom lights to admire the effect, we get on to the clay project. This is the second time we have made and glazed clay. They are old hands and now know a few techniques. They get right to work. The challenge is to fashion some kind of reptile using all the clay they are issued. I give huge hunks to some kids and smaller amounts to the children who work on a smaller scale. I show them pictures from my Florida reptiles book and we talk about lizards, snakes and turtles.

By now, no one at all asks can they make a heart or a cross or an I love Mom piece. They are really into the reptiles and I see giant lizards and turtles and snakes happening. There is a lot of checking of the photographs in the reptile book. How do those alligator legs come out of the body? How can you make a snapping turtle have those things on it's shell? They know how to attach the smaller pieces so they won't fall off in the firing process. And they are thinking about what colors they will use in the glazes. At one point they sing to me a song about fireflies, something they are practicing for a forthcoming school musical. I could die at the sweetness of their voices. And all the while we are discussing reptiles and facts about them.

This is NOT FCAT prep. This is just life with kids (who are sponges) who take in everything, especially hands-on everything. And there is joy in this room that buzzes. Rachel, their teacher, is busy fashioning a salamander like the ones she caught as a child in a creek up north.

Everyone helps in the clean-up and then we are ready to end the day with a snack of peanut butter and apples. We talk about what is going to happen at the end of "Charlotte's Web" that we are reading to the kids. They know that I absolutely cannot read that last chapter, Rachel will have to do it. Seth sidles up to me and says, "You would cry, right?"

"Yeah, Seth. You're right." And I have promised them that at the end of the book we'll have a video afternoon to watch the movie and eat popcorn. Next week, for sure.

Earlier in the day I attended the usual monthly community organization meeting. I was struck with how many local initiatives have received grants for library services, community food, help for people needing computer services, sports, scouts, child centered stuff. These grants come from our state and national government, much of it from the Obama stimulus program. This money is our safety net for poor folks. When you are on the ground seeing this funding help folks who need it, it seems so mean spirited to vote for the tea party philosophy candidates who want to rein in this spending. Makes one wonder what they are thinking.. (or if they think at all)

There are many of us all across America who give our time and money to help the less fortunate. For example, I think of our school Officer Friendly who gives and gives of his time because he believes in kids now and in the future. The projects he promotes must be funded somehow, as do those of Mike Brittingham who runs the Girls and Boys Club. There are so many other projects in our communities all of which need state and federal grants to survive. Think of how impoverished we would all be if this went down the drain with Rick Scott.

In the Garden

Here is the patch of broccoli raab, stretching toward the sun. We have many lettuces of all kinds for dinner every evening. We'll have broccoli this week, and there are peppers as well. The swiss chard is over the attack from the grasshoppers, and soldiers on. The collards are huge and we eat a lot of them. The tomatoes are coloring up and the peas and beans are in the offing. I even see the butternut squash so tiny yet, and all potential.

The vegetable garden gives us daily food, and it is beautiful to see this bounty with the butterflies zooming into the zinnias and red sage that grow amidst the vegetables.

This wonderful experience of the fall garden this year is such an antidote to the rest of life- politics and the crappy issues of health.

We went to the debate between Sink and Scott the other night. Oy Vey! All political discourse is now down to tiny sound bites; it would be great if any one of them could have the arena to really trade their thoughts on policy and philosophy! I fear for our state! Total weirdness is happening here.

So I am glad that we have our conservation easement on our hundreds of acres in the Green Swamp, no guns, our paradise with many birds and wildlife. Our near neighbors will never come here for a social occasion because they know that we harbor such friends as blacks, Hispanics, lesbians, gays, children, and maybe even transgendered, and certainly Obama Democrats. Folks, this is the American electorate. It depresses me.

The moon is waning but bright and the bats are out. I love this place.

Really cranky about medicine

Seems to me that medicine is so much about the blind man and the elephant. One goes to a specialist and they immediately recommend invasive tests for whatever their specialty is. I am wary of this and I ask, so uncomfortably, what might be found, and if it is, what's next and do I want to deal with it? Why should we have radiation ( a great risk)? Why should we sign on to be perpetual patients?

I am a seventy year old woman, weighing the same as I did at twenty, seemingly in good health. No lumps anywhere, I poop on schedule, I have all my parts, and I have more energy than lots of people far younger than I. My years outdoors have begotten some low level skin cancers and I deal with those. And I am not about to unearth marginal ailments that will make me a chronic invalid until I die!

But in the last two years my husband and I have had some major issues with sinus infections. We have taken antibiotics for pneumonia and ear infections. But the sinus problems persist. He coughs and deals with asthma, I blow my nose. For three months one of my ears was plugged up, so horrible. At times my husband's cough is so loud, all conversation stops. I am particularly concerned that no doctor considered that we both had the same problems! What does this mean? (Do we have whooping cough? Are we allergic to the same thing?) I have asked and gotten a blank stare. Might a sympathetic doctor help my husband control the volume of his cough? So many unanswered questions!

We have seen specialists who don't really have a clue. My husband has had everything x-rayed and cultured in his lungs and sinuses and all that can be said is that nothing vile was found (so more invasive procedures must be done!)

I wander along the aisles of any drug store and see how many nostrums there are for sinus and allergy. Seems that lots of other folks are in our boat.

Here is what I would wish for. I want a doctor (or equivalent) who would be interested and attentive to the whole person! This person needs to ask such questions as the regular things about smoking and exercise and life style and diet (none of our doctors have ever asked this!) It is probably key in the diagnosis about why we cough, that maybe this is an environmental concern? How long have you slept with your dog? Do you use A/C? Do you change your filters often? Do you spend much time outdoors? What do you eat?

Consider an allergist. I could go on and on. Our doctors are so time stressed they cannot ask or listen to answers and think about all possibilities. They cannot diagnose anything. They just rely on the blood work and the radiation and the recommendation that we do another invasive thing.

No thanks, we'll have to go it alone for now. We need Obamacare as it plays out over the years when our doctors can be free of the healthcare for profit and we can get real sensible answers to our health needs. This will take time and meanwhile we have to pay attention and suffer no fools.

Taking Stock

Today we said our good byes to the last guests (and the porta potty) who were here for what we thought of as "the Big Bash" of our fiftieth wedding anniversary. Our three children really wanted this. Initially we thought that this anniversary would be perfectly fine if the primary players just had a really nice dinner together. But this celebration took on a life of its own and we all got interested in having it happen. Our daughter and two sons and all their kids and all our relatives came and we had many out of town folks staying in the local motels and here at the ranch; every bed was warmed.

It was a really great gathering of all the people we love, old and new. Of course there were aspects of the event that I would have changed. The band was too loud and the guy who manned the photo booth was such a snark. And there were too many weeds in the flower beds, and too many armadillos digging holes in the lawn. I didn't get to talk to enough of those wonderful friends. But still, it was amazingly great, way better than the frugal backyard wedding we had those fifty years ago when we were just kids, recently turned twenty.

So here we are, the mainstays of an enormous family. How did that happen? We have been prosperous and generous over the years and we enjoy the tumbling of love we have from our children and grandchildren and all the other kids who have been in our lives. We have had just as much sadness and disaster as the next couple. And we have been lucky! No skeletons in our closet, but an intense interest in each other and in the other world. We have been able to change with the times, and we were fortunately oblivious of some of the issues that others in our generation struggled with.

Our family loves to celebrate! The night before the Big Bash we had an incredible Puerto Rican dinner ending with an exploding volcano cake in honor of the birthdays of two grandsons. (My signature offering!) Those puffs of steam from the center of the cake and the red lava flow were so awesome. Those little boys had wide eyes. I am the fun Grandma for sure.

I am so weary. I am thinking of how much I loved having my three children together, talking their heads off, loving each other, plotting for the next time they'll meet. At my age I can now sit back and enjoy them, not even feeling I have to know everything about them.

Yesterday, we saw an eagle on our place. And just after that I found a newborn calf all alone. We rescued him, reunited him with his mother, and today he is well, not fodder for vultures. This evening we had collards out of our garden for supper.

Could life be better than this?

Time to regroup

I spent the afternoon at a second grade at Lacoochee Elementary School where I returned the twice fired and glazed lumps of clay the kids had lovingly made. They were excited to see how shiny and wonderful their pieces now were. This was their first foray into ceramics. The kids who settled down and actually produced things and carefully glazed them had many finished pieces. The kids who weren't there or had been yanked out to do special tutoring, or just couldn't get down to the task, had little to show for it. Natural consequences.

Each week we have been studying insects, capturing them, looking at them. When I get there to the class they always have something interesting to tell me or show me. Today it was a praying mantis eating a small grasshopper. "Gross!" This is a lively class of about sixteen kids, very doable. Sky, the tiny seven year old has captured a dead rhinoceros beetle. She can identify it and is pleased about this.

We play several rounds of Hangman and I am appalled at the lack of word skills these kids have! Maybe this is partly because I have always taught somewhat older kids, but shouldn't second graders at least know that every word has a vowel? (Forget rhythm) And consonants? I give the kids hints, discuss vowels and consonants. So we go on. Next guess? "Z", says Miguel. I explain that if you see an NG at the end of the word, it's a good bet that you need an I before to make ing.

After a while I see that four of the kids are actually focusing and can make pretty good guesses. One kid, Xavier, has a pretty good overview and tries and succeeds in predicting the word from the clues. In this activity every child was on task and interested.

I often browse around this classroom and see the lovely and unconscionably expensive reading materials from FCAT. The words and directives these things use are of no interest and use to non readers such as these kids. I also see magically interesting big drawings on paper their teacher has them do for literacy and math. These things and the attention to the bugs in the science are what grabs these children.

The rest of this post, the political part was stolen by Hughes Internet.

Kids!

Nothing makes me happier than knowing my favorite youngest grandson, five years old, is sleeping upstairs. We read four chapters of "My Father's Dragon" and giggled about the wonderful images and then discussed plans for tomorrow. We will have a breakfast of french toast with maple syrup, made by Grandpa, then we'll go to a garden gig, and we'll have plenty of time for him to grind up various things in the old fashioned coffee grinder he's found somewhere in our house. I'm thinking we should try acorns. Kisses and suddenly he's asleep, cuddled up under the quilt, his red hair peeping out from the covers.

My head is full of children. I am so looking forward to next weekend when all my children and grandchildren come to celebrate our fiftieth anniversary. But day in and day out my children are the ones I know from volunteering in a local public school. Now in October I can easily identify each child by the shape of their hands, and the whorls of their dark hair. Jesus and Xavier and Abigail and all the others are becoming so dear to me as they become better and better at observing the natural world we explore each week. I come into their class and they excitedly show me the insects they have collected, how their books are coming along. This is such a joy to me. Their parents work in the school garden and are harvesting many peppers and planting a new fall garden.

This week I have been involved in the politics of public school. To our dismay, our Lacoochee principal was summarily removed, and at the end of the second week we have heard nothing! Parents and community members organized to write petitions and send messages to the school board, demonstrate daily. Attending the first ad hoc meeting of people of all ages, colors, walks of life just blew my mind! This principal, Karen Marler, has been a leader of the community action to renew this small and impoverished community. She is a beloved principal and knows every child and their family histories, and is plugged into state and national sources of help. She is a steel magnolia and brooks no fools. What she cares about most is her kids at the school. We want her back!

Rumors and tid bits of information are all we have at present. Reading the comments to the blog from the St. Pete Times reporter, I am thinking that the person bringing the grievance is an evangelical religious nutcase. But none of us knows anything.

Been a pretty interesting week. Today was REALLY the first day of fall as we Floridians know. Everyone is energized by the cooler weather and lower humidity and somehow everything seems possible. Maybe those tomatoes will produce before frost. Maybe we can even manage to elect some folks who are ethical and pass some initiatives that will help our society. Maybe, in the next few months, I can get a reliable internet connection. Sally Sunshine speaking.

News from the Green Swamp

I have been in a funk for the last couple of days since I heard that our beloved Lacoochee Elementary School principal, Karen Marler, was summarily jerked from her post. Officially the superintendent of schools here in Pasco County, Heather Fiorentino, says nothing. The official word is that Karen will be gone for a short time.

When I went to the school today, the mood was black bunting, though no one can say, no one knows Lips are sealed.Certainly not Sunshine! Felt more like a Chinese scene to me.

Of course we all speculate about what has happened and we think of possible causes for this sudden recall. Political? Karen is an independent thinker, her bottom line is the kids and the community that is pulling itself up by the bootstraps. She has been out in front in the energy required to get it happening. She has also been a vocal critic of the relentless FCATs, though on her watch the school consistently made good grades - until this year when the school rating plummeted from an A to a C. Some teachers tell me that the reason for this is an influx of non English speakers.

Whatever, no one ever examines what, if anything, this means.

I am profoundly unhappy with all this. Here is one of America's extremely poor communities and the real leader is the elementary school principal who truly cares about the kids and their families. Amazingly, Karen and many other community citizens have begun to fashion a renaissance. This has attracted state and national attention!

I know nothing about what happened this week. In this case I cannot imagine that there were the usual anomalous sins people get caught up in.

But, despite the general depression in the school today, I had a wonderful time with "my second grade group". After several weeks of examining insects and spiders, the kids really know how to observe. The classroom bristles with cages , of dead and live bugs, shoe boxes punched with holes, and full of grasshoppers and katydids.

We went on an official treasure hunt in the woods behind the school, looking for critters, and almost every team came up with every item. They know the parts of insects. (Ms. Molly, how you spell abdomenthorax?)

We passed the parents who are working on the community garden and the kids asked if they have seen any caterpillars?

And then, as we were making our books about the stuff we had collected, one kid announced that there were apples in the boys' bathroom toilet.

An uproar, of course. Seven year olds do not have front teeth! Silly me. They do not want me to think ill of them, so throw it down the john.. So, we can use the net we have for butterfly catching, and viola! no apples in the john.

I love those kids and their wonderful teacher. Something in me will curl up in a frizzle if that amazing principal is ground into dust by the "system".

My sister, the Pilgrim

My youngest sister took off a couple of months from life this summer to walk the Santiago Pilgrimage trail across northern Spain. It was a life dream. She went with her daughter, Grace, who is a student at Evergreen College, and who got credit for her experience! Tomorrow, she'll be heading back to her life as a tile artist in the northwest. And Grace will be heading off to adventures in Egypt!

When she gets home she will, no doubt, be punished for doing this amazing and selfish thing. It's part of the territory for those of us who take off from time to time.

I have been so interested in their travels as I have heard from emails along the way. Irene is soon to be sixty three, a master swimmer and up for anything. What an adventure!

My littlest sister has done an awesome thing and her grandchildren will love the tales about it. I have had a teeniest bit of envy I won't deny. But I have had many adventures as well, and I am not at all sure I could have walked 800 miles in two months as they did. I loved hearing the answers to my questions about the trail, the people she met, the conditions, the food .. The religious part of it is hard for me to understand, but the artistic part is so real.

Just think about this. Irene, a tiny, fit woman, walks all this distance wearing a handmade dress every day that has emblazoned on it a large virgin Mary on the front and on the back. Early on in the trek she shaved her head in front and made dreadlocks in back. And so, she was known along the trail.

I salute this! I think of the treks I made with my best friend through the Amazon forests at night, pawing through the vines, looking for snakes,dressed in jungle gear,(not thinking about hair-dos) and never encountering so much as a smidgen of Catholicism. We were pikers!

All these two months Irene has been on her pilgrimage, I have followed her progress on my map. I dream about her, I think about where she is now, she is in my thoughts. I know she has put one foot in front of the other for so many miles it must have put her soul at ease.

I am hoping that Irene will make a tile composite about the pilgrimage.

Back here in the Green Swamp we are preparing for the party of a lifetime and Irene will be there! I shall make time to hear in detail about the pilgrimage.

Not to be too smug, but everyone ought to have sisters. My two are so amazing in their special ways.

Alone at the edge of the Green Swamp

I tried to write a few minutes ago and the internet crashed due to a rain squall. The flip side of paradise.
There was a barred owl on the fencepost, quietly watching for the mice and rabbits scurrying around the yard. It is gently raining and I think of the vegetables I planted in the last few days, now drinking in the rain water that is so much better than anything we mortals can provide.
I love being here so far away from anything commercial, plastic or noisy. I do hear the trains in the distance when the vapors are right, and sometimes planes overhead.
In the suburban and urban places I have lived I loved the sound of church bells in the morning and the clinks and clanks of people getting up and moving here and there and tending to their lives.
But I love this more! I love the silence which isn't silence at all. I listen to the thousands of frogs calling at night from the ponds and the swamp. I hear the deer with their sharp whistles, the bark of the fox, the whir of the hummingbirds, the funny snorts of the wild pigs and the grunts of the armadillos. In the barn there is the tinny music of the mud daubers arguing in their shoots they have attached to the siding. I love hearing the turkeys emerging from their night roosts, and the ibis squawking in the dawn.
This is so much better than hearing the "Four Square" garbage truck that trundled its way through our suburban street.
I love the darkness at night. Depending on the phase of the moon it is sometimes so bright I can walk for miles without a flashlight. Other nights when there is cloud cover I don't even have to close my eyes for total darkness. When I turn on my flashlight I sometimes see banks of bright cow eyes low to the ground.
Though I love to be here in the Green Swamp, I do have to get my urban "fixes" from time to time so we travel every year, sometimes just to New York for a weekend, and sometimes to somewhere more ambitious such as Asia or Europe, maybe this next time to Australia.
I couldn't live here without the internet and phone, my lifeline to friends. But I am mostly accepting that these links often do go down and then I just go out and listen to the frogs and take a deep breath, so happy to be here.

Whatever happened to facts?

It alarms me that people pay no attention to facts right now. Politically, people have made up their minds with no regard to facts! Is this because that they think that facts are fluid and schmoozy, no need to pay attention to them? Just, whatever..
Maybe it is because facts are second to the feelings about life as it is lived right now. Lots of folks can't stand people of another color or ethnicity or religion because in these times they are scared. They want to have theirs. To me this seems mean spirited.
I am trying to understand. I know that Glen Beck and his ilk are saying that we need to renew our values as Americans. I would certainly agree with that, but I cannot help knowing that what he is really thinking and promoting is the message of fear and racism. And this always resonates with the disaffected. Bowing to the crazy bloggers who keep saying that Obama is a Muslim, not an American Citizen is just nuts!

These events are always couched in piety (god), but I wonder how many of the folks there at the Beck event, are truly invested in the message that all religions promote-that the almighty cares for all humans and wants good will for al
Sorry, but I continue to think that organized religion is detrimental to the good will that can happen with us humans. I believe in the soaring spirit of Americans and I devoutly hope we really can get back on track as the inclusive

Anniversary

This week we celebrated our fiftieth wedding anniversary, and also the birthday of our eldest child, born exactly five years later. We are looking forward to having a huge bash of a party, what our frugal wedding wasn't, and we wanted to wait until the weather was cooler than this mid August soup that passes for summer here.

We shall have good food, dancing and music and other fun stuff. No one will have to obsess about what to wear and they will bring nothing but themselves. Guests will not have to look up a special website with directives about what to order for gifts. There will be no expensive flowers, just what the meadows have on tap. And there will be no ceremony, just good fellowship among the folks who have supported us over the years. I will NOT be wearing my old wedding dress (that, in fact, was long lost to a dramatic performance of ten year olds.)

Our three children have sparked this event. At first when it was presented as an idea, we recoiled in horror. (Oh, pshaw, all we're going to do is give each other new gardening tools. Not a big deal.)

So now I am definitely up for this celebratory event. Much less expensive than a wedding and a lot more than a sure thing. Much less stress for all..

I have loved this husband of mine for fifty years, in sickness and health, for better or for worse, we are in it for the long haul, so why not celebrate?

Life in the Slow Lane

Many times a day I am frustrated by the internet access we have here in the boondocks. We have satellite, our only option, and daily the bandwidth slims down. So we can do business in the mid morning, and then it is iffy the rest of the day into the evening. If I wait to download a photo, mostly everything goes up to god or wherever and never returns.

A couple of evenings ago when I really wanted to connect on my blog, and the internet was down, I wrote to our president, basically asking if we rural folks were chopped liver and did not deserve to have access to the world out there. We are too far from a cell phone tower to connect on any reliable basis.

Anyway, this is the flip side of paradise, and I am trying to be more tolerant. The vegetable garden is being prepared for the fall planting. It is so hot I can only work for a couple of hours between seven and nine a.m. We have removed the weeds of summer and put down the old funky jute mats no longer presentable on our porches. These are great mulch and weed suppressors and we just cover them with mulch. Then when it is time to plant, we cut holes and apply some of the wonderful compost that has been percolating all summer, and stick in the seeds or seedlings I have been cultivating in coir containers. It is all potential!

Speaking of potential, our garage apartment in St. Pete is progressing. The demolition is awesome! Now I can get a faint glimmer of what this small place (not quite 1100 sq. ft.) will be. I rescued an old claw foot bathtub from the previous apartment and as it sat by the dumpster, lots of people came by wanting it. No way! This is going to be a planter for salad greens.

It's a wonderful life here. So much to share.

Being Connected

Another fraud?

Today I volunteered at my local public school, helping a young teacher set up her second grade classroom. Basically, she had everything in mind and just needed a pair of hands to move shelves and cabinets where she wanted.

But there were enormous amounts of slick thin books, many FCAT materials, empty binders, and kits from various text book publishers, and she had no interest in them, though she told me that they might be full of interesting little things. She has reams of the same kind of stuff, now updated and fine in new plastic.

All this STUFF is overwhelming! Most of it is from the text book publishers, and now out of date. There is little in the way of inviting art materials, no aquarium waiting for a gerbil or some fish, no blocks or Legos.

We placed the current reading materials in the teacher shelf and sorted through the books, filling three boxes with books she didn't want and will give away to the kids (which is probably the best pedagogical thing she can do this year!) The rest of the books we placed in attractive bins for the kids to grab and read. She has a vision of a reading corner here with pillows and an area rug. I have promised some brightly covered pillows.

We are in most states so strapped for money we are laying off teachers and hunkering down THEY SAY. But I cannot help thinking that there is some kind of fraud going on here, not unlike in the medical world, not unlike in the insurance world. Someone is selling all that excess educational stuff: Houghton Mifflen, Harcourt Brace, etc. I think that the textbook companies are feathering their nests, people are being paid off to unload all this unnecessary stuff to school systems that don't need it! And, basically. they can't afford it.

Why in the world, for example, would a school system pay $50 for a classroom 'calendar kit' when a teacher could easily make a classroom calendar on his own? Why would a very poor school have an entire store room filled with math gadgets that few teachers need or know the purpose of?

I think that we could save millions of dollars by looking into the amazing largess of the suppliers of school supplies. Someone is being paid off to provide this stuff! Just look at how the purveyors of the FCAT test results fell short! The actual teachers and principals have little or no say in what they get in the way of supplies and textbooks.

School supplies and books need to be lean. Kids love to go the library and select books and they treasure that special 'one' book they can take home at night. Teachers and kids can make almost everything they need in the classroom. Anything is more important and treasured if you make it yourself!

I imagine the time when our wonderful public school teachers and principals can be more autonomous and call the shots, unfettered by the greedy textbook companies that now dictate even when they can take a breath.

Wouldn't it be great if every school was just issued the funds from the state and could do with it what they wanted? I guarantee that we'd see a lot of creative uses of the money, and there wouldn't be the vast excess that no one wants or needs. (And maybe the powers that be at the textbook companies would not be flying around on corporate jets.)

In the words of our man, Hooper, that's all I'm saying.

Sex and War

Dog days of Summer

We took a few days off of all electronics to make a fleeting visit to the mountains of North Carolina where we very much appreciated the cool weather and the company of old friends and the joy of being with our daughter and grandson.

The moment we returned our niece and her partner and baby arrived from Australia to stay for a week. We had been awaiting this visit since we do not see them very often, and we were so eager to hear about her life now that she has a child. In Australia, way more child friendly than the U.S., the mom takes an entire year off with full pay, and the dad takes three months off with pay. No charge for delivering the baby, and no charge for all medical things. When my niece left the hospital, she received $5000 for the child! This is "socialized" medicine! So, they pay more taxes than we do in the U.S., but not a lot more. (WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH US?) No wonder that this baby, little Seattle, is so secure and loving with his family.

But, with us, the beat goes on. Little by little, small things happen, and they pile up. My community, Dade City merging into Lacoochee and Trilby had a Day To Remember today. It was the day of Visioning when three bus loads of federal, state and local folks took a tour of the Lacoochee area and saw the needs. We had put together a proposal for the redevelopment of this area that may rival Haiti in human needs. These folks looked and took notes and then they came back to the conference room at the local power company that has been so instrumental in making this happen. They looked at a full room of hundreds, many locals (identifying themselves with their green shirts) and told us of all the money that could be ours if we could identify the needs and apply for the money that is there.

I think that eventually this could all work. An amazing photographer and gadfly, Richard Riley, has documented the landscape of Lacoochee in all its grittiness and beauty, and this has been a key factor; his photographs lined the conference room, reminding everyone of the importance of this convocation.There are so many other locals who relentlessly volunteer and make their stands.

It is really hard to think about what may work in getting the funding for this major project. We heard today that the money is there but we must identify the individual projects and make application for the grants and loans. Some of the speakers seemed to drone on to put everyone to sleep as they explained every program that could be funded. I think, who can do this?

All will be revealed! The day was an incredible affirmation of what a small segment of America can do! I imagine the day when this small town will have work for the adults, good places to live, and a healthy life for kids and everyone.

I felt so connected to mankind as I sat in the 'green shirt' section of the convocation. There was the great grandma next to me and the dad who came back for this occasion because he was born in Lacoochee and his folks still lived here. There were teachers there and retirees and parents, and just good folks of all ages and colors.

And now we have to get down to the hard work of making all these dreams happen.

Getting Ready for the Big Seven O

Next week will be my seventieth birthday, but I am still really at heart and soul a ten year old kid, but with a lot of baggage dragged along through an amazing life.

When my husband asked me what I wanted as a birthday gift I could not think of anything I do not already have that I want, so I muttered into my hand, not even thinking, "If you love me you would know." But several days later as I was on line, I heard about an amazing trip to Ruanda. I said to him, "What I would really love would be a trip to Ruanda. I could visit Paul Farmer". Deafening silence.

Of course, this is not a good idea in any way, so by the next day I had put the idea aside. I have made many outrageous and dangerous and fascinating trips to South America and the memory of them is such furniture for my mind. The idea of setting out by myself to see stuff I have only read about, maybe doing some good, is powerful to me.

On this birthday, though the years say 'OLD!', I am still vital and energetic and healthy but I don't know how much longer this will hold. I am not tethered to "meds" and I have all my parts (so far!). I am not scooting around Walmart in a wheelchair with my fat hanging down.

My youngest sister, divorced, well into her sixties, is making a two month hiking trek through Spain this summer. She's doing a trail for a saint, 800 kilometers, maybe even a hair shirt. I envy her this. But she is single and her children are grown..

My kids are also grown up. Among them we have six grandchildren for whom we have a certain amount of financial responsibility. You can't have it all! The mutual responsibility my husband and I have for each other sometimes limits our wild desires to be ten years old and free to explore anything. But we have every morning to read the papers on the porch on the edge of the swamp in this interesting and beautiful place we have made, with the loud birds and frogs calling, enveloped with wild flowers and the long shadows of early morning. And we talk our heads off about politics and everything else.. And we have the nights in our high bed with the dog! These are the rewards of a long and interesting marriage.

But it still is spice to travel yonder to swim with pink dolphins in the Amazon River or dance on top of the world in Peru, or walk for miles in Bologna. I'm not done yet!

Damn chickens!

Here is Quincy with the chickens!

Last week I took my grandson, Quincy over to my friend's place to see their chickens. He was quite delighted with it all; the chicken house that was safe from predators, the nesting boxes, the names of the hens, and most of all, the beautiful feathers he found on the ground for his "collection".

These chickens have been a source of envy to me! I have wanted to have chickens for ages. Once, years back, we had a few chickens that were given to our daughter and we had to take them back and forth between Dade City and St. Pete every weekend. Those chickens were a big drag, quite honestly, because in town they ran around our house and in my workplace, pooping everywhere with great abandon. One weekend in the country they were eaten by predators, probably a fox or a bobcat. Then, I was so frantic with everything else I had to do I had no time to concentrate on the needs of chickens, so it was a blessing, despite the tears, when they got et.

But, fast forward to the present. I love fresh eggs, and I love the physical presence of chickens with their beautiful and funny feathers and their amazing sounds. As a gardener, I know I would love having chickens eating bugs and depositing their droppings for fertilizer. I love the image of myself as a person Who Keeps Chickens. But we think of ourselves as the free spirits who come and go and it is hard enough to think about what to do with a small dog, let alone chickens. So, we are still chicken-free here on the ranch. (Cows take no particular day to day care.)

My spouse hates the idea of killing anything, especially a chicken. I tell him that we would have ALL HENS and they could provide us with the fresh eggs that are so much tastier than the ones we buy at the grocery store. We are still debating the issue.

Meanwhile, my friends who decided to keep chickens, ordered several batches of chicks and picked them up at the post office. Yes, that is how you do it. These tiny chicks were certified and promised that they would be all hens. I could hardly stand it not to go there every few days to see them growing up. And they are certainly beautiful! All glossy colors and breeds. They gave us delicious eggs when they had excess. During the day those chickens walk and strut around free and fly up into the trees and then go back into the chicken house into their little nests and lay double yolk blue eggs. Oh, how envious I have been!

Turns out that there were THREE roosters in the bunch and they were very abusive to the hens. Time for stewed chicken (roosters). So my friend's spouse said he'd do the dirty deed, leaving only one rooster. He got out the hatchet, and as the rooster rebelled, he accidentally hit his own hand with the blade. Lots of blood! He quickly bound up his hand with an old sock and carried on. My friend had the boiling water on to dunk those roosters and thus be able to pluck the feathers.

When it was all over, and the roosters plucked and in the freezer, it seemed that the injured hand needed major attention. So he went to his son, the veterinarian close by, and was stitched up in no time and bandaged with stuff dogs shouldn't chew.

I wonder if I should suggest that they go in for ostriches next? I hear that the meat is good.

Worries in the Green Swamp

A year ago I was obsessing about the resident sand hill cranes who were hatching eggs on their nest on the pond, their first clutch. Both of these two chicks died, one from unknown causes, and the other one was eaten by an alligator (in front of my eyes!) The parents, "Bob and Emily", just took off after this disaster and I thought I'd never see them again.

This year in early spring they returned, did their mating dance with much bugling and throwing of sticks. I carefully paid no attention (this is life in the wild). And then one day Bob and Emily appeared with one very cute reddish chick. All spring this family of three were to be seen in the pastures and in our yard. We named the baby Sidney. I found their nest in a different pond with no alligators and each night the family of cranes returned to their nest.

Three days ago I noticed that Bob was injured and limping! I was able to get close enough to see that his foot was intact and there did not seem to be anything broken. But he couldn't really get around very well. Emily and Sidney kept him in view at all times as he stood in the shade. When they got too far away, Bob bugled to them ("Get over here! I am still in charge!"), and they return to him.

So, I worry. Will Bob recover? Why are those buzzards hanging out in the trees overhead?

I always want to fix things. My beloved old dog ate something terrible and has been sick for two days. Seems she's better now, wanting to eat her food and greet friends.

There is always something to worry about! Of course there is the oil spill and unemployment and illegals I know and love..

But tonight there is a fullish moon and good friends to share dinner and the sides of the lane full of wildflowers. The blue curls are so elegant and tiny, and there are masses of small yellow daisies. The may pops on the fences have bloomed and are producing fruits. Iron weed is about to bloom, and our yard is full of all colors of crape myrtle. Despite the summer heat that we all complain about, this is truly the most beautiful place on earth.

The Two Habitats

I have two habitats, maybe three. The first one is my home on the edge of the Green Swamp, far away from everything. The water board folks occasionally drive through the property on their way to checking the river and tending to the vast acres on the watershed. But otherwise we live in our splendid green privacy where we shower outside in a grape arbor (and whoever goes out first in the morning must prune that shower curtain and urge the spiders to go elsewhere and flick off the green tree frogs who congregate there.) No swimsuits needed here.

We go to sleep with the cackles of the barred owls and wake up to the noise of the dawn chorus of birds. We sleep in our high bed with the dog and my quilts, nothing to wake us except the full moon shining once a month with such magic ferocity I must get up and walk around through the porches to admire it. In the moonlight I can see the cows lying peacefully in the meadow, and if I walk down to the fence I can smell their sweet breath.

But we must have our fix of urban life! Last week in midtown New York City, we strolled out to Times Square, after a wonderful restaurant dinner. Traffic has been banned there and there are lots of chairs and tables full of people (millions of people!) Above us the vast neon lights blinked and jazzed, reflected on the glass faces of the buildings. So many people! All kinds, ages. Tourists from Indiana, Muslims in full regalia, dreadlocks, very short skirts, turbans, kimonos, lots of babies in strollers, old folks, friendly policemen directing people. I can't get used to the noise! Sirens, taxis, the hum of hundreds of my countrymen having fun.

We took a long subway trip to a wedding and the whole thing was an adventure, a visual treat. Across the aisle on the train from us was a dad and his little girl, entwined in the need for sleep. I loved watching them as they kept hitching up their stuff as it fell apart. Many kisses. They were beautiful.

And then, as we exited the train, a family we had observed who was clearly on the way for a day at the beach with many kids and coolers, tumbled out of the car screaming and roiling and bursting. As we left the train, those usually uninvolved New Yorkers were stepping out from the doors, and there was clearly a bloodied woman calling for the police. It didn't happen in our car, but clearly there was some kind of assault.

The wedding took place in a park under the Brooklyn Bridge. No one could hear the words of the ceremony because of the racket from the trains crossing the bridge, but it was lovely - so New York.

We love the array of arts and music in the Big Apple and we eagerly embrace it. But at the end of the days we are exhausted from the bumping up against so many people. We are glad to get on the plane for home. I could hardly wait for the Moment when we drive down our lane between the fingers of swamp to home.

The third place we call ours is a small apartment we are renovating in the green and leafy part of Old Northeast St. Petersburg where we go sometimes to be with our family and friends. In terms of privacy, this place has the least. Neighbors are so near you could reach your hand out from your window and touch. But, unlike New York City, those neighbors seek to know you and watch out for you, and that is amazing.

Part of the price of living here is that the satellite sometimes refuses to download photos. So just imagine the contrast of the Green Swamp and Times Square.

Is technology affecting our brains?

In the last few days I have read in various newspapers (some of it on line) that 'studies show' and people think and psychologists contemplate that we spend entirely too much time in front of our digital screens large and small. It seems we are addicted!

There was the story in the NYT about children who cannot get any time from their parents because those parents were always texting or face booking or in some way or another hooked to the immediacy of their personal screens. We saw photos of families in which each member was engaged in some sort of technological interface with their chosen plasticated hardware as the family ate breakfast or dinner, each family member encapsulated in his or her own digital world.

And then there is the story today in our local newspaper about the guy in a pornography trial who was so addicted to those photos on line he could think of nothing else. What a quinella-the addiction to the computer screen and quirky sex!

I worry about this stuff. Like many people, I consider the computer a major part of my life line to the world. I connect to friends, shop, maintain political connections, connect with Facebook and utube, look up stuff, play games sometimes. When the internet is down so am I.

I have made the decision not to text or tweet, though I am tempted. Having come to age in a different and non digital world, I don't have the first instinct to call or text someone about every little thing. I grew up with regular phones and public phones when I had to go that way. I am glad for personal cell phones and actually use it as my primary phone. But it makes me absolutely crazy when the satellite that powers my computer goes down!

My five year old grandson who was trying to get on line today says to me, "This is the slowest computer I have ever seen!" Hey,this is paradise and far from anywhere! But I sympathisize. I think our brains are becoming different.

I don't know where we are going! I do not believe that the friends of mine who have decided to eschew cell phones and/or email are on the right track. I do believe that the constant texting and phoning is mostly quite silly and inconsequential, not to say dangerous when we are in our cars or in the proximity of our kids.

Today I received an actual handwritten letter from a young friend. He thanked me for my gift of time and love, and it was lovely. We forget in this digital age that personal attention is best. We all want to spit on the signatures to find out if what we receive is not ersatz.

What do you think?

Moving Days

When insomniac during the period of selling our old house, working on selling our daughter's house, putting in a bid on this one and generally trying to make the ham and eggs come out even, I counted the number of moves we have made over the years- fifteen!

So, we are going to try the grand experiment of living in a family compound. What you see here is the main house where our daughter and her family will live. In back there is a funky three car garage with an apartment above it. That's ours!

The main house is lovely, a restored 1925 bungalow updated with a great kitchen, new energy efficient everythings, hardly any yard to take care of, and in an old fashioned neighborhood with neighbors who pop in to bring welcomes. (and tell all about the past owner.)

The so-called carriage house aka the funky garage is all potential. The contractors will begin in a couple of weeks to make it into a comfortable and even stylish two floor abode for us when we come to town a couple of days a week. I am certainly on board for all the actual facts of moving. We spent a day unpacking the kitchen stuff, horsing around and setting up furniture, taking everything out of the POD, breaking down boxes, and trying to find stuff.

The dogs were particularly irritating as they whined around being insecure and getting underfoot. Quincy, who's five, was delighted with it all and very excited to find that his beloved stuffed animals made it through a couple of months in the POD. He explained to me that Goldie, the stuffed goldfish had been o.k. because there was lots of fish food in the POD, but she was happy to get out. I can hardly think about the day when our own storage unit will appear. Surely no roach, let alone a stuffed fish would make it!

I am o.k. with the actual moving and I can imagine the process of gutting the garage and putting in a living space for us. Basically, I think this idea is a good one. I think of days when
Quincy will pop over for breakfast or we'll all eat dinner together on the future patio. I imagine my daughter and me walking our dogs down to the waterfront in the cool of the evening..

But for me, home is here on the edge of the Green Swamp. I fell in love with this place twenty years ago. It's terribly inconvenient, like having a lover in Argentina. Though I had the best work anyone could have, I craved those weekends, even before we built the house and all the other structures and we camped out with the bugs. I love the land and the space and the gardens and the privacy and the possibilities of the natural world. And now that I really live here, I can expand my horizon to include the local community and new friends and commitments. What could be more perfect than the long hours I spend making quilts and pots and paintings? Or walking up to the main house in the evening where my husband is finishing the dinner for us? Or having friends visit and we sit on the porch watching the birds?

We will have our own place in town and it fills me with the greatest pleasure and gratitude that our daughter truly wants us there and that we will go there and know that in that big house across the yard are people we dearly love. And I also know that as the years go by and we cannot manage our country lives, our small city place will be just right. Not yet, though.

I'm Back!

Here's Dylan with his sculpture made from the huge quantities of squash I brought from my garden into Lacoochee School on my last day of volunteering this year. It was a very fun day and the creations were awesome. We ate prodigious amounts of local watermelon, distributed their cookbooks from our year of cooking, and finished the day with the last chapter of "Little House on the Prairie". I have loved my 'adopted' classroom. I know I will see these kids next year, and maybe some of them over the summer at my 'camp' here at the ranch. I love these kids.

While my internet connection was down for several weeks I have been seeing the vegetable garden through to the harvest. The lettuce was the first to be fried by our early summer heat. But the cucumbers have loved this hot and rainy time. We have maybe twenty cukes each day, and even the tomatoes are coming along. We had to repair the fence that fell down under the weight of all those heavy squash. Even in this hot weather there is always something to eat.

This morning very early we began digging a channel for the new cable from the satellite. It is about five hundred feet from my studio to the main house, and lots of roots along the way! Now, all is completed, our backs are tired and we will sleep well tonight.

Here is a typical evening's harvest. I feel like a wonderful purveyor to the cook! "Here's what there is today. What will you do with it?" Andy, the cook, makes very interesting dishes with what I bring.

During this time of a few weeks, actually two months, all we can think about is the oil leaking into the Gulf. None of us have ever considered oil rigs. They were just out there (Drill, baby, drill) and I have never supported having those rigs anywhere near. But now I scour the photos and the streaming videos, trying to understand what is happening.

I think this is a disaster of enormous proportion to us all. I think of the children's book 'Motel of the Mysteries' in which in the far future some anthropologists have unearthed a civilization that was buried in paperwork. Will our current society be buried and left for dust by the unintended consequences of technology? There is so much stuff happening in technology! Who of us could have known that the drilling for oil would bring such disaster?

And who of us could have known how greed has insinuated itself into every part of our lives? I have watched the Florida politicians of late hang themselves on matters of ethics. The only candidate (so far!) I can support is Alex Sink for governor -smart, capable, and squeaky clean ethically. I was impressed at first with Charlie Crist as he became independent, but right now he looks like a lightweight, ethically speaking. Surely he had to know about those cronies close to him. And if he did not, as he said, he's not that bright.

Aargh! Seems just right to us to live here on the edge of the Green Swamp where nights are dark and stars are bright, where bobcats and alligators cross the road and swallow tail kites fly in the sky and little kids can collect ant lions in the sand.

Cinco de Mayo and tomato hornworms

First, I have to vent about the lack of internet access if one happens to be a persopn living in rural America! Our only option is a satellite, that works only fitfully. So, again no photos because I am writing on a miserable net book without that big hard drive full of photos.

The Cinco de Mayo celebration in the fourth grade at Lacoochee Elementary was spectacular! I lugged in about a ton of stuff (with help from the kids): picadillo, tortillas, rice, fixings for guacamole, pineapple and giant grapes, and flan! I didn't know how much help I would have, but muchas senoras showed up with cooked beans they smashed and cooked again for refried beans. My favorite teacher, Rachel, brought in lots of sour cream, cheese, and the best corn tortillas made by her mother-in-law. One of the volunteer senoras brought in hand made decorations and I had my cd player belting out Celia Cruz. The kids were very interested in a huge and extremely heavy mortar and pestle one mom brought in to use to make the guacamole.

The making of the fiesta and the eating of the comida took a couple of hours and lots of other teachers came by to join in the fun. Afterwards when we had cleaned up everything in the multipurpose room, we went outside to do the pinata thing.

Rachel's husband is a teacher in this school too, and he is always into eating any of the stuff we make, so this day, after pronouncing the picadillo very good, I asked him to find a place to hang up the pinata I had filled with candy (I had considered filling it with politically correct and educational trinkets, but none of them would fit into the small orifice, so I went with candy.)

We all trooped out to the playground and fixed the hot pepper pinata to monkey bars with stout twine. These Mexican kids knew exactly what to do, they had done it many times before. There is a special chant, some rules (all new to me). So these kids were out oin the hot sun whacking away at a giant red cardboard jalapeno pepper. Eventually the thing just died of exhaustion and broke open. The kids all jumped on it in a clot more violent than anything in NFL.

It was the best. So satisfying to all, dangerous, potentially hurtful.

I loved this zany celebration and how kids and adults just hung out together and had fun all afternoon. I love this school that has the confidence and expansiveness to embrace this kind of joy. I especially loved being welcomed by these Mexicans who put up with my newly minted Spanish.

As I gathered together all the remains of the grand feast parents I didn't even know who were waiting for their kids sprang up to help us trundle everything out to my car. And several parents who are working on our school garden hurried up to tell me what was happening in all those containers. The corn! The beans! The peppers!

With my car chuck full of dirty pots and dishes I pulled out of the parking lot as six women colorfully clad in bright yellow traditional Mexican dresses were massing outside the auditorium. I just had to stop my car and leap out to give each of them a hug. I know some of them as the moms of kids I know. Others are the gardeners.

Speaking of which, I discovered a tomato horn worm on my best tomato plant approximately the size of a wiener dog. I cut it in six pieces with my garden scissors. I am spraying with BT, all an organic gardener can do. And I trapped an armadillo last night. The pests are here! Went to Lowes today and bought netting to cover the plants from squirrels and birds. Tomorrow morning when it's cool I plan to put down weed cover to quell the immense amount of dollar weed sprouting on all the garden paths.

I am here alone for a couple of days, not a bad thing. I love the solitude and privacy, the dawn chorus of birds, the hummingbirds busy in the honeysuckle, the crane family stalking around, proud of junior who is losing his red color and starting to get a bustle. I love working in the vegetable garden before it gets hot. It's similar to doing a jig saw puzzle because you just think about what you are doing now. Oh, yes, I thought this weed would never come back. Should I leave this morning glory? What about the volunteer zinnias? Yes, the butterflies love them. Oh, here is a lovely brown toad. And before you know it, the sun is getting high in the sky and I am dripping with sweat.

Blazing hot!

I vowed that I would never complain again about hot weather, but I am recanting. Zip! On the first of May, it became mid August with temperatures above ninety. So we cranked up the A/C a month early.

The vegetable garden that faired poorly in the cold spring is not that adaptable. It was the year that we had at least six big pickings of English peas, but in this heat wave, the squash overwhelmed them, glad to be able to reach out tentrils to something already there. The red pontiac potatoes are doing very well and we eat them daily. I love those little babies, so sweet and crunchy and fun to find by digging my fingers into the dirt where there are so many earthworms now. Collards are spectacular and I have covered with netting the tomato plants that are attractive to the birds and squirrels. This year I put out the tomatoes early and planted them in large containers. What a difference that made! No nematodes, and so far no tomato horn worms. We are already picking cherry tomatoes.

I have covered the salad tables with left over screening so we are still harvesting lettuces. Cucumbers are coming on.

I have never seen such an infestation of dollar weed! I heavily mulch the actual vegetables with hay, but the paths between are verdant with the beautiful circles of this pervasive weed. Many self seeded zinnias are springing up and I treasure them, as do the butterflies.I heavily mulch but in a few days dollar weed is back. We replaced a jute mat on our porch and I put the old one out in the garden to smother weeds. It works very well. I need more old biodegradable mats!

The bottom line is that most of the vegetables we eat come from this family garden.

Our gentle bull, Nugene, didn't live up to his potential and he was taken away today, soon to replaced by another more horny bull. We want every cow to have a calf and Nugene didn't accomplish this.

I love these days of just this and that in this paradise of tree canopy, sounds of frogs and insects and so many songbirds. Lots of work to maintain this but it is worth it!

Can't do a blog without some thoughts about the crazy Florida politics happening. So what is wrong about taxes?? Those taxes get us what we need for a decent life style. It's called democratic government! I am glad that Charlie went independent. Just maybe he has a chance. I am voting for Meek I think, but I am for anyone who can be a spoiler for Rubio. (Are you all amazed at the bottom feeders who have also come out as candidates?)

Keep growing your own food! Stay tuned for my report on our Cinco de mayo fiesta happening at Lacoochee school.

The Process of Quilting

There are two best things about making quilts. First, there is the initial process of thinking about the person who will receive it. ( I rarely make a quilt for us.)

The second thing is just doing it.

Usually the recipient gives me some guidelines about what they want, and they never want anything classic, and they always want something really hard to do. This is my great challenge and I love to do it!

They tell me that they love dogs. So dogs it is and I scour the fabric stores and the thrift shops for images of dogs and when I have collected these I spend hours putting the collage together, and then hours appliqueing them into the final image. And of course I must invent many of the elements from my vast stash of many colored fabrics.

I apply all these elements with careful stitches onto an appropriate background, usually made from some kind of classical patchwork. All the while I am thinking of the recipient of this quilt, and this is really the best part.

I listen to music the whole time, and when I need to spin more bobbins for the sewing machine I take a break and go outside and water the lettuce or look at the moon.

I am a self taught quilter so my quilts are incredibly idiosyncratic. (The ladies in the quilt store are quite appalled!) Nothing classic about my quilting!

Here is an early photo of a landscape quilt for a dear young man who is graduating from college in a month. He didn't want dogs or anything specific so I went for images of his life as a redneck Floridian. (The back side of the quilt will be quite sedate.)

I have discovered that boys and men love quilts just as much as the women do.

After making so many quilts I have learned so much. My quilts are much stronger now and can take a lot of abuse. I know that young people don't wash stuff very often so I give them colors and constructions that can stand up for a long time.

But the bottom line is that I love to do this quilting thing for the people I love. I am happy thinking of them curled up under these basic covers, warm and enveloped and sharing my DNA ( and the dog hairs) from so many hours of work. I am happy to think of the many folks who have been facing life threatening issues who are curled up under my quilts and I love to think of the students who may be scrunched up under my quilts while they study or make love, or the babies sucking their thumbs under a fluffy quilt, and the newly weds happily hunkered down with their new responsibilities under a king sized Molly quilt.

So, back to squaring up this new quilt! Got to get the binding on, another few hours to think of my good friend who'll receive it.

Firefly magic

Just at dusk, before it is thoroughly dark these days the edge of the woods fills with a million flickering lights of the seasonal fireflies. And behind them is the harmonic resonance of the frogs, tuned together into such a magnificance of nature, who could not be awed?

Before dinner I went out to the vegetable garden with my five year old grandson and I introduced him to the bliss of eating fresh raw English peas and finding little new potatoes like treasure from underground. "Grandma Molly! Is this pod plump enough?" he asks. I show him how to tell and he stands there happily pulling off those fat pods and finding those incredibly green babies all lined up in their green row boats and ready to be eaten. We find some carrots and roll a number of pea pods into a collard leaf to take inside for dinner with the nine potatoes we dug.

We are fresh (but very tired) from hours in town where we have been pursuing our complicated real estate deal that has included selling two houses and combining our families into one new place. Our daughter has a wonderful new 1925 restored bungalow in old northeast with a carriage house on the back. It will be up to us to remodel this for us. Quite a challenge! We do not worry because our main home is here (in paradise) on the edge of the Green Swamp, not in spitting distance of anything man made. Still, it will be interesting to make something unique out of this and we don't flinch, having done this many times before.

Late this afternoon when the shadows were long and dark and grandpa was making dinner from the garden, Quincy and I drove out in the golf cart to explore the pastures. He asks me, "Why do you have two houses?" I try to explain this, giving him some simple history of our situation. I tell him that no way will we give up our ranch and that our new place in back of his new house will just be for us to come to not so often. And we want to come to his place because we love him and his mom and want to have a place to see our friends we have known for ever so long.

Five year olds keep you honest! So many questions! But Quincy knows in a deep way that this place is his. He's comfortable in the bedroom that used to be his mom's, and his tether is so long now on the place!

He knows what we do, and expects to go with me to my classroom volunteer gig at Lacoochee Elementary School on Tuesday. We are discussing the possible cooking activities!

It is not only the fireflies and the magic of being here in such a paradise. It is the getting to know a small community of local folks who really care and show up and help each other- Richard and Kathy, Virginia and Norman, the Greens, Judy, Nia and Dave, and Cpl. Hink, Kristen, and so many others who in their quiet ways really make a difference! Whatever we are, black, white, hispanic, we care in all the small communities across the land. It is so affirming and keeps me from the despair I could easily feel right now being an American.