Multi-promoting from the Lovestead

We've got a lot on our minds today, and at least one family member is changing clothes midday because of it.

Willie told us this morning he'll be changing from his Boise State T-shirt to his Arbor Day T-shirt, (compliments of Miss Betty from the Idaho Forest Products Commission).

Bill and I are already wearing our shirts.

There is a lot to celebrate on this day, and we're doing our best to honor it all.

So, Happy Arbor Day. Happy, Declaration Day. Go Mariners. Go Sounders.

And, Happy Weekend, without rain, we hope!

Be sure to hug your favorite tree today, or if you want to talk about your favorite tree, your favorite college, your favorite baseball team or your favorite soccer team, feel free to do so in the comments.

It's "Declaration Day" at Sandpoint High School today.

Willie came over this morning and borrowed a T-shirt from his dad, declaring his personal loyalty to his alma mater,  Boise State University.

Students throughout the school who have decided where they'll attend college in the fall will be wearing the T-shirts or sweatshirts representing the higher-education institutions they have chosen.

Bill is ready to roll.

He's had his team items sitting in a stack on his desk all week. 


Today, Bill, Willie and the accessories head to Seattle for a full sports day tomorrow.


Mariners at noon and Sounders in the evening.


If you're watching the Mariners game tomorrow, you might be able to see them with Annie.


If you're watching the Sounders, you might see Bill and Willie with their towels accompanied by a couple of ladies in turquoise and green wigs. One of the wig ladies would be Annie.

So be looking. 


Go Mariners. Go Sounders.

For all the tree huggers of the world: Happy Arbor Day.

Bite and Flight, et. al.

I coined a new phrase this morning:  bite and flight. The coinage comes, thanks to a horse with big teeth and a bad aim.  Instead of taking a chunk out of Heather's hide while I led her from her stall to the barnyard, Lily missed and grabbed ahold of my shoulder.

I can tell you that having some extra layers of clothes saved me from worse pain.  Don't know if  I'll have a bruise to show for it, but it did hurt, immediately.  And, immediately, Lily, realizing the errors of her aim, jumped to the rear of her her box stall and stood, obviously paralyzed with fear of the consequences.  

She knew trouble was coming, and poor Heather wondered about all the fuss as I wheeled around, trying to keep ahold over her lead rope while grabbing a tool for discipline.    I'll let you guess what that was, but I'll tell you it never touched Miss Lily but it sure as heck scared the beejeebers out of her.

In all my short-lived but intense pain, I could not help but almost chuckle out loud at what a wuss my big, alpha mare can be.  She knew she'd been had, and if she could have squeezed all of her 1,200 pounds through a mouse hole in the floor, she would have done it.  Lily does not like to be in trouble. 

Anyway, the incident got me to thinking about a funny moment when---like Lily---I'd been "had" years ago and there was nothing I could do but hang my head, keep my mouth shut and bear with the stern lecture I fully deserved.

This story came up yesterday when my sisters, my brother Mike and I were sitting around Mother's dining room table,  talking about our childhood bus behavior and some of the discipline measures used by bus drivers back in "the day."  In one case, our bus driver never had to say anything to get our attention when we were being bad.  

He simply slammed on the brakes.  Ever had your mouth and teeth meet with those metal frames on the back of the bus seat in front of you.  I have.  Straightened my behavior up and fattened my lip in a hurry, I'll tell you.  

The bus driver would have been sent to jail had he employed such a measure these days.

Mike told of an incident where our neighbor Vic Hudon, an All-American high school football player and all-around nice kid,  who never got in trouble,  molded a rather large spit wad and shot it forward through the bus.  His aim was much better than Lily's.  

It landed dead center in the back of the brake-stomping bus driver's neck.  Mike can't remember if the driver slammed on the brakes or not, and it could be he never learned who the perpetrator happened to be.

I watched spit wads fly through the bus for years.  It was great fun as long as one didn't land on me.  As I matured, I gradually felt the need to establish myself as a full-fledged imp like my brothers who had graduated from high school by then.

So, I took to bringing rubber bands on board and pieces of paper for the after-school trip home.  The bus ride was usually about 45 minutes cuz we went Baldy Road, Gooby Road, Great Northern Road and finally to the corner of Boyer and Woodland Drive before I got off at night for a short walk to our house.

I had a great time for a couple of days,  aiming and occasionally hitting my target, always making sure that nobody knew who the shooter was.  Or so I thought.

I found out shortly into my spit wad assaults that a few people knew my identity, namely two sisters much younger than I,  but they said nothing to me.  

They told their mother.  Their dad happened to be an Idaho State cop, but for some reason, they felt their mother had more clout with yellow-bus spit-wad snipers.  

Their mother also happened to be our afternoon paper deliverer, back in the days when the Spokane Chronicle still came to most of our homes.  

I had just gotten home from school one afternoon when we all noticed that the paper lady had changed her usual route.  Instead of stopping at the paperbox, dropping off the afternoon daily and moving on, she bypassed the paperbox and drove straight into the driveway.

My mother saw her coming and went to the back door.  She handed my mother the paper, walked right past her into the house and found me standing in the living room.

"Don't you ever shoot spit wads at my daughters again," she lectured, along with a few other warnings. I said nothing cuz I knew I'd been had.  Then, she turned around walked out and left my mother standing there with her mouth hanging open.  

I never shot spit wads again-----on the school bus anyway.  And, later those same sisters had me for a teacher.  Fortunately they never held my past discretion against me, and we enjoyed a great friendship.

Seems like the short and sweet of dealing with the "bite and flight" or "shoot; then turn mute" has instant impact and takes care of a lot of problems later.  

Still, I think I'll be a little more careful while I pass by Lily's box stall in the mornings.

A Lovestead Natural -- Yum, Yum

I just finished reading the Wednesday food section in the Spokesman-Review.  It was delicious reading.  

Today's lead feature focused on the best Reuben sandwich in Spokane.  The main photo showed a prep cook from O'Doherty's (the Love family's favorite Spokane restaurant) smiling and holding a plate with an attractive sandwich with its dill-pickle accessory.  

I thought that certainly must be the best of the Spokane Reubens, but, no, the winner comes from a downtown cafe called Madeleine's.  Madeleine's reuben was pictured with some lovely little vases of flowers.  After all, presentation is everything, right?  

On the list of 14 favorites was the Davenport Hotel where you can eat your Reuben and tidy up with a CLOTH NAPKIN.  

Now, that feature always  makes my sandwiches taste better.  

By the way, for my friends Denise and Pierre, Arby's made the list, even though ranked at the bottom----of the top 14, that is,  and probably served with paper napkins.  

I wonder if Pierre, Denise and the gang serve Reubens down there at the Sandpoint Arby's?  If so, I'll stop by one of these nights and pick up a couple of Patty Melt Boy and Polar Swirl Girl.

Since today is another ugly wet one, I'm allowing thoughts of food to keep my mind off the outdoor misery.  Might even go to Costco to stock up on our basics:  that big hunk of Tillamook medium cheddar, macadamia nut chocolate caramels, unbaked baquettes of French bread, spaghetti sauce, ham slices, the double pack of honey-flavored bacon and those huge Foster Farms chicken breasts, among other items.

Oh yeah, I can't forget the two packages of Longhorn Barbecue German sausages, which brings me to one of my  Lovestead favorites.  Maybe the rest of the family doesn't like it so much, but I do.

In fact, we had this meal last night.  It's a once-a-week regular. 

 

Thaw out a couple of Longhorn German sausages and two stadium hotdog buns---those are the ones with the gentle rolling hills on top.  Grab that big hunk of Tillamook medium cheddar out of the frig and chop off a slice about 1/4 inch thick.  

Cut the cheese, literally please . . . into 1/4 by 1/3 inch strips, give or take a little.  If you do it right, you've got a strip to chew on while finishing the rest of this main dish. 

Stuff the cheese slices you haven't eaten into the bun, taking care not to have the bun separate at the seam.  Then insert the sausage on top of the cheese and carefully fold the sandwich as much shut as you can without all the ingredients pushing the seam open and falling all over the floor.  

Wrap in aluminum foil and warm up in a 350-degree oven.  If your husband doesn't come home until 6:30 when he's supposed to be home at just after 5, tell him it's his fault if his German sausage delight has turned into concrete.  Fortunately, I have a husband who doesn't complain about overcooked food.  

He just pretends to eat it while reading his newspaper and dumps it in the garbage while I'm watching the news.

If that bun, sausage and cheese come out of the oven in a reasonable time, the cheese should be melted, the bun slightly crunchy and the sausage,  still nice and juicy.  For my accessories, I add Best Food's mayonnaise, honey mustard mustard as opposed to dressing, slices of bread and butter pickles and a little relish.  

Absolutely heavenly to my palate!

Last night the side dish was French fries baked in a bit of olive oil, salted and touched off with a dash of bacon salt.   I did use the honey mustard dressing for my fries, not the honey mustard mustard. 

Fattening, caloric meal,  yes.  Tasty enough to want more, yes.  

Stuffed in the garbage can?  No, I didn't see any of Bill's sandwich in there----probably because he arrived home BEFORE the sandwich had finished its baking cycle, not 90 minutes later.  

Of course, I haven't dug through the garbage to make sure.

And, for you Wood's German sausage lovers, of which I'm one of those, too, we all know that they're encased in a little thicker skin than the Longhorn folks use around theirs.

So, to prepare your sandwich, try the same method as above, only slice the sausage at intervals of every 1/4 inch or so down to its back skin.  

One must insert those slices to avoid chomping down and having the rest of the sausage,  dressed with its drippy condiments,  following that initial bite right out of the bun and proceed to dangle over your lips and resting on your chin while you're still desperately trying to sever first bite from the rest of the its body.

Not a pretty picture, especially for the eating-etiquette crowd.  So, I've learned the slice method is essential for Wood's sausages.  

I wonder if the Spokesman-Review is gonna send that reporter on a tasting test for sausage sandwiches.  If so, I hope they'll put me on the list.   And, to add a special farm twist, I'll provide some country bibs so they don't drip mustard,  mayonnaise and relish on their shirts.

Tuesday Twitterdeedripdripdum

It's a laid-back, rainy morning.  Very silent outside with the exception of a vehicle passing by every few minutes and the plops of drops hitting the deck below this office window. The dryer downstairs is clacking away as my fleece, a sweater, my windbreaker and a few towels bounce around.

Last night I decided it was time to wash my fleece.  The hope is, of course, cleanliness along with removal of a layer of dog and horse hair.  I don't know what one does besides sending fleeces to the dry cleaners to get rid of all that hair, but the jacket won't look nearly as bad if it's, at least, clean.

One should never wear fleece around animals if one expects to wear the garment anywhere else.  Heck, even just looking at my horses seems to generate a new coat of red, white and gray hair all over my Navy blue coat and any other similar coats and vests that  I happen to wear outside. 

The pink, blue and white windbreaker was just plain dirty from all those utility-cart trips from the barn to the manure pile and from the manure pile to the gardens.  Hard to stay clean when you're playing in dirt for a good portion of every day.

Speaking of dirt, my friend and former teaching colleague Terry Iverson drove his big John Deere tractor with bucket over last night to scoop up a nice load of our aged horse dirt.  Edna, his wife,  said she needed only one load for her small garden.

Terry and I would have visited longer,  but yesterday's initial barrage of mosquitoes kept us both wanting to keep moving.  As I spoke to him sitting up there in the tractor, I could see a whole cloud of the little critters darting around his neck and his bald head.  

Earlier in the afternoon, while painting a fence, I spent half my time  hopping around in a spontaneous Mosquito slap dance.  The buggers were merciless, continually attacking my elbows as I tried to paint, and this attack was out in total sunshine.  No swamp, no excuse for mosquitoes to be hanging out near me, I reasoned. 

But mosquitoes have their own method of reasoning.  Where there's blood, there's dinner. 

Looks like it could be a banner year for the little blood suckers.  Then again, I can remember their intensity during certain times of spring during past years, so maybe they're just so jubilant to be out and about, that anyone's fair game as their victims.  Maybe as time goes on, they'll be more selective in where to find the good eats.

I got a lot accomplished yesterday, including submission of my May column, which is always a relief.  Two garden patches saw their first tilling.  The horses got to go out in an expanded makeshift pasture after I moved a few panels around.  

I visited with Mother and enjoyed a short visit with Willie and Debbie when they brought the pickup back from moving more items from their rental house to a storage unit.

They'll start moving into their new digs on North North Boyer tomorrow and will be completely out of the other house on Friday when my buddy and classmate Mike Rosenberger does some steam cleaning to top off the cleaning process. 

My brother Mike is driving over from DuPont this afternoon and will visit a few days before running in Bloomsday this Sunday.  

Life is moving on, and the rain keeps falling.  It must be time to get to work cuz more and more cars are suddenly passing by.  And, that means it's probably time for me to get out to the barn and finish my chores.  Enjoy the day, and try to avoid those pesky mosquitoes.

Oh, the people in my life . . . .

I had a bad encounter with some strangers last week.  The incident was one which I may write about some day but not for a while.  All I'll say is that for it to happen on a beautiful day in our friendly, outgoing town of Sandpoint was heart-breaking and literally sickening at best.  

Words from the mind of a naive soul?  Maybe.  Admittedly so.  I don't mind being naive, and I also don't mind saying that I have always preferred to see the best in people.  In this case, I was stunned and saddened that people can be so vicious, especially to whom and about whom they know nothing. 

Seems like there's so much of that happening in our world these days.  I'm  puzzled as to why civility and respect for others has taken such a hit in recent times.  I know that a lot of this results from the constant supply of  hateful, untrue items that get spread around the Internet. 

I know that it also comes from the need for 24-hour cable networks to fill up their time with trivial conflict, most of which wouldn't have amounted to a "zit on a cowboy's butt," in the grand scheme of things.  My dad used a similar metaphor when he was talking about true horsemen vs. drug store cowboys.

These days so many minor infractions in people's behavior are blown so far out of proportion, I often wonder what we'd do if we had a REAL problem show up in the news.  Would we pass it by for something more titillating?  

Maybe that question in itself is naive, and maybe we've already spent more time focusing on trivia than on the real issues that make a difference to the population as a whole.

If one were to use the Internet or "the news" as sole basis for a blanket judgment of the people that live in America, I'm afraid we might be a little mad a lot of the time.  Cuz it ain't a pretty picture.

That's where I come back to the "people in my life."  Every time I fill out a form or label myself,  the phrase "people lover" is on the list.  It's been a lifelong passion for me----probably why I became a school teacher and a journalist.  What better combination to fulfill my need to constantly meet new people with new ideas, talents, experiences, etc. and to enjoy their stories. 

Also, what better way to constantly have a pretty good pulse on the real people who serve as the backbone for this nation.  Along my way, I've been privileged either to instruct or to write about thousands of decent, hard-working, respectful, contributing, visionary, dedicated, talented, friendly, salt-of-the-earth people.  

They're out there.  I can tell you that for sure because I've got the stories to prove it.  

I enjoyed such an occasion yesterday when Billie Jean, my editor from Sandpoint Magazine, told me I was welcome to go along when phenomenal photographer "DO," pronounced DOE, a French lady who came to Sandpoint via New Orleans, would work her magic in the midst of lush green pastures with snow-capped mountain backdrops.  

Her subjects were six people I had profiled for a segment of the magazine's upcoming horse package.  I was given the opportunity to select these folks from among all the horse people I know.  I used a somewhat scientific gage to choose them----gender, geographic location within the county,  varying horse interests and backgrounds.  

Some of them knew each other; others met for the first time.  Two hours later, eight new friends (that included Do and me) got into their cars and headed home with big smiles on their faces along with some great reflections of a "made in Heaven" photo shoot.  

The early evening light from a setting sun cooperated.  The horses cooperated.  The green grass was tall and plentiful.  Even the "before-dusk"  moon made an appearance. 

The scenes were stunning, to say the least.  And, Do, carrying her camera and racing from place to place, was like a kid in a candy store, snapping each new picture.  I acted as her assistant----klutzy but helpful.  

The images will appear in the next Sandpoint Magazine, and I'm thinking some of  the blossoming friendships formed last night  will continue for a long, long time.  

Yesterday served as another reminder for me that we need not let the negative forces that constantly drag us down dominate our thoughts.   If we can concentrate on the good times and reflect  on the fact that most people with whom we come in contact do not represent the perceptions conveyed by our media.   

It also reminds us that the few negative encounters we endure are just that--few and wishfully forgettable.  

I know the latter is easier said than done, but I'll keep working on it while rejoicing in the fact that I'm a lucky person to have the opportunity so often to see and report on the true gems whose genuine goodness makes up for a few bad apples.

No-paper blues

Two weekend mornings in a row:  late papers.  Must be the weekend stand-in sleeps in.  Anyway, it boggles up my routine.  I'm as bad as the horses and the Border Collies.  Things must happen in regular sequence or I'm out of my comfort zone.

I'm still flexible though.  Wonder how long that's gonna last.  My cure for the "No Paper Blues" is to walk down the dirt road in front of our place----------------the paper came-------well, now I've had my Sunday morning relaxation session.  

I love taking my time to read the paper any day, but on Sunday mornings it's a staple.  To have that disrupted is disappointing.  So, this day is somewhat out of sequence but getting back to normal.

Yes, I do walk down the road when there's no paper and just enjoy the early morning silence of Taylor's field, Gary's pasture and Meserve's orchard.  Then, I turn around and hope to hear a car starting and stopping on the road to the north.  Both mornings this weekend, that has not happened to suit my need to be in synch.

Still, it has afforded me the opportunity to take some extra time smelling the morning, so to speak.  And, doing that in April and May is truly a pleasure.

In the paper this morning, I read about the lives of folks who work on the offshore oil rigs---lots of money but a separation from home and land make it tough.  And, this past week's tragedy where one of the 11 who died had talked to his wife and told her he'd see her in just a matter of hours was very sad.

I also read about the old loner who lived in the cave homes near Salmon, Idaho.  He died this week at age 94.  He was the last of the Salmon River loners, the article said.  I envied the feature writer who did the piece because those stories are so loaded with color and fascination that they write themselves. 

Not often you can screw up on a story when you're dealing with a salty old codger.  

Now that newspaper reading is finished and the low-hanging clouds have lifted up to show us a gorgeous Sunday morning, I'm thinking about the day ahead.  Willie will be coming sometime today with his third load of firewood to stack in our shed.

He and Debbie are moving this weekend and during the next several days-----not from Sandpoint, I'm happy to say.  They'll probably be just 3.5 miles away from us at one of the Snowgoose condos on North North Boyer.  A family member of the owner of the home where they've been living since December is spending the summer in that house.  

So, their enjoyment of Lake Pend Oreille living will have to be put on hold for at least a while.  Of course, I'm not complaining because that means they'll be closer, within bike riding distance, no less.  

Plus, forested trails near the condos will be nice for the dogs.  If they find the route, they can even walk as far up the mountain as Schweitzer Ski Resort, so it's not a bad location.

On this beautiful Sunday I'm also thinking about the late afternoon when I'll go over to Leonard Wood's home on the V Bar X Ranch.  Turns out Billie Jean was able to coordinate all six of my folks,  profiled for the next issue of Sandpoint Magazine as area horse lovers,  for a group photo or two at the Wood ranch.  

A talented local photographer Marie-Dominique "Do" Verdier will be shooting the pictures.  She has already done some work at the V Bar X Ranch.  It, along with some of her other photos, can be seen at (http://sandpointphoto.blogspot.com/), so check 'em out.

I'm anxious to meet her and to see my group all gathered in one spot.  They're all wonderful, interesting people, and I'm anxious for them to meet each other, especially cuz they'll be doing it on horseback.  Such experiences are what make the job of writing a pure joy.  

Sandpoint Magazine's summer edition will hit the streets in mid-May, by the way.

Looks like I'm running pretty late because of my "no paper blues," so I'll shut up and just wish everyone a wonderful Sunday. 

Saturday Slight

No paper, and the rain's falling.  Mountains are socked in.  I was somewhat surprised to see the weather change, but it lends to the quiet peace of a Saturday morning after a busy, beautiful Friday.

The horses got a taste of green grass yesterday.  I did some rearranging of panels from my round pen and was able to build them a little makeshift pasture in an area where they don't usually graze.  They seemed quite happy with the change of pace and the good eats.

Play time was a bit limited, though, because of the shape and small size of the enclosure.  Talk about horses being creatures of habit.  Each tried to turn to the right rather than the left this morning as I led them from the barn.  The left leads to the barnyard, and they figured yesterday's new route would become routine today.

Unfortunately, I didn't want to set up fence again so early in the morning so they had to settle for hay in their usual breakfast spot.

~~~~~

The week sped by so quickly, it seems.  Hard to believe that next Saturday is May Day.  That's the day Bill and Willie, along with Annie,  will be taking in a sports doubleheader in Seattle.  First, the red-hot Mariners at Safeco Field. 

We're hoping they'll be leading their division by next weekend.  That will make the experience even more exciting for Willie, Bill and Annie.  They'll be located in prime seating, which is part of their birthday present.

That evening they'll be wearing their green and turquoise towels and standing in the end zone for the Sounders soccer match.  Apparently, those matches are quite the experience for the fans, so I'm sure Bill will have a few good stories to share about his first MLS outing when they get back.

~~~~~

On May Day, I'll probably be doing some channel switching to catch shots of my family at the baseball game and then the Kentucky Derby.  Seems I've missed parts or all of it for some reason or another the past couple of years, and that's been sad.  It's always been a staple in the beautiful, unfolding spring, and I always cry when they play "My Old Kentucky Home."

So, this year, I'm excited to be able to be near a TV to watch it. 

~~~~~~

Speaking of "home," one of my favorite people came home this week, and Sandpoint is all the better because of it.  I don't know anyone who doesn't think the world of Colin Moody.  And, he's right up there on my list of phenomenal people one can meet over a lifetime.

Colin has completed his Master's Degree and is returning to Cedar Hills Church.  I haven't heard the details yet, but just knowing that he's back to work the magic with his wonderful, upbeat, inspiring personality gives me a sense of peace. 

Welcome back, Colin.  Can't wait to have an opportunity to "break bread" with you.

~~~~~

On the upbeat scene, I also enjoyed a conversation with another former student last night.  I'll be featuring a snippet or two about her in my next column for "The River Journal."  Talk about a happy, accomplished young lady.

Kate McGuckin is finishing her Master's Degree this year in Molecular Biology ( I think that's it), being sworn in as a Second Lieutenant in the U.S. Army and headed off to Germany to do research for the Army.  Kate is so excited about her future and has it pretty well tracked out, with hopes of some day earning her doctorate.

Kate and her family went through some much-publicized hard times a few years back, but she has not let those challenges hold her back from a very happy and successful life.

It was good to talk with her and I look forward to visiting with her when she returns to Sandpoint for a visit.

~~~~~

I thought the rain would be temporary, but it's now falling with a little more intensity.  That's good cuz there are potatoes in the gardens needing some water by now.  I still haven't hooked up my hoses, so they've been "dry land spuds" until I do. 

The garden has some lettuce, the broccoli, swiss chard and cabbage so far, and I think that's going to be the extent of it until May when warm weather at night is a bit more of a sure thing.

For the time being, there's still plenty of other outside projects to keep me occupied.

~~~~~

Maybe the papers have come by now, so I'll sign off and wish you all a wonderful Saturday and weekend.

I'll leave you this morning with the lyrics to one of my new favorite country songs.  I really listened closely to the lyrics for the first time when Miranda Lambert performed it on Sunday night's country awards show.   The word touch my heart deeply, especially because our childhood home no longer exists.

The House That Built Me

I know they say you can’t go home again
I just had to come back one last time
Ma’am I know you don’t know me from Adam
But these handprints on the front steps are mine

Up those stairs in that little back bedroom
Is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar
I bet you didn’t know under that live oak
My favorite dog is buried in the yard

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

Mama cut out pictures of houses for years
From Better Homes and Gardens magazine
Plans were drawn and concrete poured
Nail by nail and board by board
Daddy gave life to mama’s dream

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

You leave home and you move on and you do the best you can
I got lost in this old world and forgot who I am

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I walk around I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

Friday Freeze Frame

Yes, it froze last night.   I do hope my baby plants are not frozen in time.  I'm holding out great hope for my broccoli and the greenhouse lettuce I put in the ground yesterday afternoon.  They're cold-weather plants, right?

My biggest concern is those fruit trees with blossoms.  By the way, I realized that there were only two trees where the map drawn by the Lovestead previous owners showed three. So,  the tree I thought was a Yakima plum is a pear tree instead.  Seems the Yakima plum tree was there but disappeared before we moved to the place. 

My cherry tree is loaded with blossoms and CD's that Cis gave me a while back to scare off the birds.  Hope the blossoms are okay.

Bill came home the night before last  with a form of "Deer Off"  and spent an hour or so spraying his most recently planted seedlings as well as my tulips and the blueberry bushes.

As plants keep popping from the ground and growing taller, I've discovered that all is not lost with my tulips.  They just have funny shapes from being scalped a few weeks ago by those overnight nibblers.

And, speaking of deer,  we made another discovery last night.  I was using the upstairs restroom, which has a window to the whole west side of the place.  The window is BEHIND the commode so not a lot of good scenic viewing while doing business.

But---as I prepared to leave, I looked out and could see movement down toward the Lodgepole/God Tree.  At least two deer were circling the tree, nosing around.  Walking downstairs, I yelled to Bill that we had some potential new members for the Lodgepole Society.  Bill didn't seem too excited about inducting deer into our exclusive club.

We went on about our respective routes.  Eventually, mine led out to the hayfield for the nightly romp with the dogs.  I must tell you that,  as the fields continue to green up, there's nothing prettier than Border Collies racing to and fro.  Should have brought my camera, but the image is frozen in my mind. 

Eventually, the dogs and I moved on to the God Tree pasture.  As I got closer, I could see that the door to the box which holds  the Lodgepole Society official forms (field books) was missing.  Continuing forward, I was happy to see that all the contents were still intact within the box, which is about three feet above the ground on a wooden standard.  

The door was lying on the ground.  Those deer.  Can't they leave anything alone?  Their vandalism last night could be grounds for banning them for life from the Lodgepole Society.  Later, Bill went down and tightened the latches on the box.

I guess if we see them loitering around the box tonight we'll just have to go down there and induct them into the club and make very clear to them the reverence and respect that must be observed at all times in that hallowed spot. 

I have a feeling that,  with this beautiful day ahead, my mind will be cluttered with lots of frozen but pleasant images to revive over the years.  The beauty that comes with ever-evolving spring is beyond comparison.  

It more than satisfies my journalistic mind which thrives on frequent change.  That's why folks like me go into journalism, I think, and that's why long winter months of comparative nothingness drive us crazy.

For now, I'm crazy with excitement and ready to take in the natural images of this new and beautiful April day.

Happy Friday. 

Every day is Earth Day

Bill and I wished each other Happy Earth Day today.  Then, he said, "Like that bumpersticker I've seen:  To a forester, every day is Earth Day."  I added to his thought, saying that to a significant portion of the population, every day is Earth Day.

Still, on this 40th anniversary of Earth Day, I celebrate.  My celebration won't involve any cake, ice cream or balloons.  It may involve a few gifts, however----gifts both Bill and I try to give the Earth every chance we can.

Maybe I'll plant more potatoes or some swiss chard.  Maybe I'll work up some soil for the first time in the north garden. I might spend some time manicuring my large lawn.  I know I'll yank a few more weeds from my strawberry patch before the soil gets too hard.

Meanwhile, one needs only to walk through our woods to witness all the gift-giving to the Earth, compliments of my husband, the forester.  His forest is gradually becoming immaculate and flourishing with young and old trees of varying species.  

Neat little wood piles greet the traveler at various junctures.  Limbs removed from mini thinning projects are left throughout the wood lot, providing nourishment on the forest floor.

Hardly a day goes by that Bill doesn't take a jaunt through the woods to check the progress of his young crop of larch, cedar, fir and pine seedlings, all making their way among more mature trees.  He's proud of some of his larch, which planted a couple of years ago, now stand taller than most people. 

My celebration of the Earth comes every day during the seasons that allow it.  Constant attention to nurturing the lawn, the flower beds and the garden---and daily rejoicing of and appreciation of  progress.  Yes, good things do sometimes happen, in spite of the moles, deer and tame creatures that inhabit our 20-acre patch of Earth. 

I can't think of anything on Earth I love (with the exception of my family of humans and critters) more than the Earth itself.  And, I do my best to preserve and respect it.  I know millions of others do the same because I've had the good fortune to see the results of such deep and abiding love.  

So, if we need a day to celebrate the Earth, let's do just that by bringing attention to the very entity that sustains us all.  And, from this day forth, let's continue the celebration in the form of admiration, respect and care. 

It takes a planet to take care of the Earth. 

Happy Earth Day wherever you are!

Oh, DEER, Marianne also planted new blueberry bushes

As if yesterday's reports of critters crawling the Lovestead and eating up all my garden and yard flowers weren't enough, I discovered a new "hole in the dike" late yesterday morning.  

Several of those beautiful blueberry bushes I planted last week are now missing most of their leaves and the pretty little blossoms brought on by greenhouse warmth.  I have since decided that anyone who thinks they want to do gardening in Critterville  must have active and well-honed problem-solving skills. 

I thought off and on all day of how I was gonna save the rest of my blueberry bushes before another dark night brought out another herd of thieves.  What added to the challenge was the busy afternoon ahead---several hours spent at a CASA gathering in town and an afternoon visit with my dear friend, classmate and daily blog reader Janet Eakin Anthony.
 

Janet called me Monday, telling me she was in town and had decided to stay an extra day.  So, we agreed to meet here after I returned from the in-town meeting.  We enjoyed a lovely visit on the deck on a rather perfect April afternoon.  During our visit, Mike Boseth came pedaling down South Center Valley Road.

I had already mentioned him in a conversation, regarding my New Zealand penpal who died recently.  Mike and Robyn's husband Steve have begun correspondence.  I matched the two of them up in hopes that their common interest in sailing and biking might lure Steve this way some day.  

Janet also knew Mike because he works in the hospital lab where her mom Jean and stepfather Bill worked for years.  After hearing me yell to him, Mike stopped, turned around, rode in and visited with us, telling Janet that her mother had served as his mentor when he first came on board in the lab several years ago. 

We finally said our good byes, and a while later, the blueberries and sundown reminded me that deer would soon be scouting out the best pathways through the Lovestead food court.  There was no time to build a fence, so I grabbed eight tomato cages and planted them around each new blueberry bush.

The cages are still standing this morning, and it looks as if the blueberries have gone untouched overnight.  Between now and when my established bushes sprout their leaves, I'll build nine more cages, and hopefully that problem will be solved.  

Never in three previous years has a deer touched my bushes, so I know that this year may promise lots of unpleasant surprises in the gardening mission.  

One pleasant surprise came this morning when hundreds of blossoms popped out overnight on an unknown fruit tree near the barnyard fence.  In past years, that tree has been one-sided, with its branches chewed off over the winter by long-necked horses who may have tired from eating the fence.  

This year, the electric fence wire to protect the board fence has deterred them from the usual munching on said tree.  I told Bill about the blossoms and then opened the drawer where there's a map of the fruit trees planted by the previous owners of this place. 

Turns out the tree with its first crop of blossoms is a Yakima plum tree, while the little one next to it is a pear tree.  The little one hasn't burst out quite yet, but it did have one blossom last year.  

So, I live in excited expectation---that my home orchard may just bear more fruit this year.  Last year Mother Nature got in the way by blowing forth a cold front right after the blossoms popped out.  I'm hoping she'll stay in the good mood we've seen over the past few months and smile down on us.

And, if we do actually luck out with a few plums this year, what problems will I have to solve to ensure that they make it to FRUITION?

~~~~~

On another note, I'd like to extend my condolences to the family of Mary Margaret Cochran.  Mary Margaret was a regular reader of "Slight Detour."  In fact, I took her some tomatoes the year before last after she commented about one of my postings.  

Her children, Tim and Cathy,  and many of her grandchildren have been dear friends to both Bill and me, and we keep them all in our thoughts.

My thoughts also go out this morning to my friend Frankie Roberson, her family and the Becker family who are mourning the loss of Frankie's daughter, LeAnn.  

LeAnn and Mary Margaret were both much loved, longtime residents of this area, and they will be missed.

Who nuked the cukes?

Nice cukes, right?

"How come every pot doesn't have a nice cuke?" some of you may be asking.

I asked that same question yesterday morning while watering the new plants in my greenhouse.

The day before, I had once again admired my two dozen healthy plants.

Yesterday more than a third had disappeared from the tray which was sitting on a shelf about eight inches off the ground.

The lovely leftovers are actually a deeper green from what you see in the picture.

I used the "saturation" tool in Picasa to accentuate the empty pots.

If you look closely you'll see a few of the little green nubbins on level with the dirt in each empty container.

Chomped off. Neat, tidy, precise job, I must admit.

When you're stealing, it's important not to leave clues.

In my greenhouse, no less! I could not believe it.

Something had come in the night and something had stolen my babies, straight from their beds.

That something had walked right past a trayful of showy lettuce, sitting right on the ground.

I had been bringing the lettuce out in the day time to sit in the sun.

I had been taking it back to the greenhouse so the deer would not eat it at night.

They didn't, nor did the mole or whatever the heck the critter was that beheaded my cukes.

Yes, I've found little piles of dirt on the ground underneath the shelves of my greenhouse.

And, yes, if I bend down enough I can make out some holes.

I can also see holes along the outsides of my greenhouse, but until yesterday, I was going blissfully along with my early spring gardening show, figuring my plants were safe and sound in the greenhouse. A heater kept them warm during cool nights, and I've watered them faithfully during these past few nice days.

What more could one do?

Well, it's apparent there's something more I must do---either nuke those moles in their holes or put down some type of industrial-strength ground cover.

Even if I do that, a mystery still remains.

I'm used to moles/gophers---whatever you want to call them---eating the bottoms off my carrots. They did that without fail in one section of my garden last year.

I'm not familiar, however, with moles who climb up on to shelves to steal.

Until yesterday morning's discovery, I thought moles did their work undercover or more specifically underground.

Silly me!

Guess we learn something every day in this life of ours, and when you live on a farm, the learning curve is virtually never-ending.

One of my friends told me yesterday that she didn't want to hear about my garden beds or my labors of digging in the dirt. She would just go to the farmer's market to get her food.

I told her that she really didn't have a clue what kind of energy brings that broccoli or those bags of lettuce or those lovely cukes to the market.

Only the farmer knows for sure, I added.

And, this amateur gardener/farmer is getting too much knowledge about the "could-go-wrongs" of growing veggies for market, or growing anything for that matter.

Yesterday, I hauled dirt and filled a three by three-foot, six-inch deep hole in the middle of the hayfield, dug over time and during idle hours by my dear Lily last fall.

I reseeded the plot and hope that she doesn't destroy my efforts again this fall.

I also planted a whole bunch more cucumber seed and brought the tray into the house, where I'm hoping it will be safe in the garden window.

I'll take the six tulip bulbs from the Easter bouquet---yanked from the ground and separated after one week's stay---to a place inside my garden fence and replant in hopes that the deer can't find them again.

The other day, moments after discovering that my broccoli actually came up in its outside bed, a dog ran through the baby plants.

I put marigolds in the new lawn planters in hopes that the mythology of marigolds detracting deer will work.

It's an uphill battle succeeding with a garden and even a hayfield out here in Selle, and with population boom of deer and moles, I'm afraid this year's season is going to be a real challenge.

Who let those damn moles out anyway?

Monday-Morning Mutterings

Another beginning to another week of life, and I'm wondering what's on the menu.  I know a few items. 

~~~~Tomorrow afternoon. I'll be attending a CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate)  training meeting at Panhandle Health.  Judy Moon Labrie has given me the details---that it will be a big meeting and that CASA volunteers will be there.

My purpose in attending is to learn more in hopes of writing my next column.  Judy sent me a note a while back,  telling me of the need for volunteers to help with CASA-related program.  That need ranges from providing transportation for kids to a full-fledged commitment to be a foster parent.  

I'm sure I'll learn a lot tomorrow afternoon and that I'll have more than enough to fill a column.  

~~~I also know the grass is growing, so the lawnmower will be busy for sure.  While mowing one section of lawn yesterday, I stopped long enough to tell Bill some good news after he'd returned from church.  

That news was prefaced with the fact that "this is the day I live for every spring . . . the day I can get on my lawnmower and mow."  Neighbors who drive by will attest to the fact that I love riding my mowers.

~~~~The news for Bill had just come via telephone from Willie in Portland.  I could sense an uncharacteristic excitement in Willie's voice the minute he said hello. 

His report:  the Monticola and Cedar Post staffs received  ten awards at the JEA national convention.  More than 3,000 kids and 440 awards given, ten from Sandpoint High School.

I don't know if that's a record, but I know it's pretty impressive for national competition.  I also know the excitement it fosters for the kids, the parents, the teachers and the community who support the programs at the high school.  

And, I know that such success breeds success in the future.  That's what's helped the publications staffs at Sandpoint High School continue putting out quality products---that and some good teaching.  

So, Bill and I shared a proud moment as we talked about the good fortune Willie has enjoyed during his rookie year as a teacher.  

Much of that good fortune has come through the influence and guidance of his Aunt Barbara (the yearbook adviser) who, along with our sister Laurie, has always been a guiding light for our two kids. 

That generous spirit and caring is  never forgotten and always appreciated. 

~~~~

This reflection ranks at the top for the weekend events.  Bill announced Saturday evening, after an afternoon spent home dog sitting, that he was going fishing on Sunday afternoon.  

After returning from church, he wasted no time grabbing a bite to eat, loading up his aluminum boat and hauling three trips' worth of stuff to his pickup. 

While mowing lawn and watching this seemingly endless process, I was beginning to wonder if he was going to take the whole house with him. Finally, it was apparent that he would climb in the pickup and head off to Kelso Lake.  So, I stopped the mower and wished him well, confident I wouldn't see him again until well after dark.

I finished mowing the lawn and then looked over my food supply to make sure I had everything needed for a hamburger feed when Willie and Debbie returned from Portland  to pick up their dogs.  

I could find only two decent buns and three which had been long-frozen in individual bags in the freezer.  I knew there was no fooling Willie that these buns were, indeed, fresh, so I headed to town to pick up some more and along with some potato salad.

Upon returning, I was stunned to see the pickup and boat parked in the driveway, only an hour or so after Bill's departure.  Now, THIS WAS UNCHARACTERISTIC for my fisherman husband.  

He was walking out of the garage when I stepped out of the car.

"What are you doing home?" I asked.

"I forgot something," he said, looking somewhat sheepish.

I could not imagine what Bill could have forgotten after watching him load up that pickup earlier.

"What did you forget?" I asked, somehow guessing from the look on his face.

"My pole," he said.  

Kelso Lake is approximately 40 miles from our home.  Bill had arrived at the lake, all ready for the big afternoon in the boat.  No pole (rod for the aFISHionados).  So, he drove the 40 miles back to Selle, retrieved his pole (rod) and headed back south, this time to Cocolalla Lake (approximately 25 miles from our house).

When he returned, long after dark from his 130-mile journey to catch a fish,  I asked how fishing was. 

No luck, he said, no fish. 

In my mind, however, it was one of the best fish stories I've ever had to report!

~~~~Happy Monday.

A good day, indeed

Jane Fritz of Hope talks about her book Legendary Lake Pend Oreille during an author event at the Create Arts Center in Newport yesterday.

Jane, T.J. Keogh (a novelist) and I enjoyed a wonderful afternoon with members of the Create Arts group and with audience members who came to hear about books.

It was a good afternoon for everyone, and I'm sure that I speak for both Jane and T.J. in thanking the group for having us.

We appreciated their support and their enthusiasm.

~~~~~

It was a good day all around for me yesterday. I sold some books, met some wonderful people, planted some potatoes, observed that all my broccoli has come up, heard good news from Portland and topped off the day with a pleasant, quiet evening at home.

The Mariners won. The Sounders won.

At the end of the day I commented to Bill that, at long last, I'd experienced a day with no major problems to solve.

Such days have been rarities lately.

The folks in the front, Bev and Jerry Numbers, are restoring the house in Spokane once owned by Sonora Smart Dodd who started Father's Day.

This year marks the 100th anniversary of the first Father's Day celebration.
http://www.morning-glow.com/holidays/father/father.html

That nice lady waving is Val of Create Arts who introduced us.

To her left is Doreen who organized the refreshments. I definitely want the recipe for Doreen's apricot bars.

Phoenix, third row right, said I looked familiar. Then, she asked if I knew Marilyn Chambers. To which I happily replied, "Yes" and told her that she'd read a chapter about Marilyn in one of the books she purchased.

I learned later from his wife that the judicial looking man with the gray beard in the back is, indeed, the judge from Newport.

Some of T.J.'s fans and Pat Karr's mom, a former school teacher who knew my friend Bill Gee.

Pat teaches at Priest River and went along with our group a few years ago when the Naval Academy hosted a group of Idaho teachers for a week.

This was occurring while I was giving my presentation.

What these people failed to realize is that even at almost 63, this old school teacher has eyes in the back of her head.

In all seriousness, these were the other two authors who presented information about their books at yesterday's author event, sponsored by Newport's Create Arts Center.

T.J. Keogh is the court administrator in Newport, while Jane Fritz is a freelance writer and editor.

Yesterday was a great day for the SHS Cedar Post staff  too.

The paper took 7th place nationally in "Best of Show" at the JEA National convention in Portland.

This morning the journalism and yearbook students will learn if they've won prizes in the national Write-Off contests, held Friday at the convention.

Stay tuned.

Congratulations to Willie and the Cedar Post.

Good Job!

Saturday Slight

~~~The headline event for the week at the Lovestead~~~

Yup, the dogs have dominated the past couple of days here.

They'll continue to do so until Willie and Debbie return from Portland tomorrow evening.

All five have been good dogs, though.

This time, so far (claws crossed) no fights yet.

No stink dog problems cuz it's been dry.

Todd and Brooke, the grandpuppies, have taken on their share of the work here on the farm.

While Kiwi and Kea busily keep watch over the horses, Todd runs shotgun for the 4-wheeler with every load of manure taken to the new planters.

Morning and night, Brooke gets in her spot and sees that the horses walk in and out of the barn properly.

Both help their friends clean up any horse apples I may have left while cleaning stalls.

They don't have to be told.

The only incident thus far is figuring out which resident dog (Todd and Brooke were in their crates) ate half the wrapping off the visitors' sack of dog food last night. Funny the culprit didn't eat the food, just tore off the paper. I'm wondering if there's a deep-seeded message there.

~~~~~~

Anyway, all goes well with dogs, and from what I heard during a conversation with my sister Barbara last night, things are going reasonably well with the journalism and yearbook students in Portland. Barbara says the kids have been really good.

~~~~~~
Today Bill will be dog sitting while I drive over to Newport for an author event. I was told to do my best to spread the word, so one more time I'll mention that it's from 3-5 p.m. at the Create Arts Center in Newport.

Of course, I'm nervous. Any time I have to get up and talk at such gatherings, I'm nervous. They were nice enough to let me go first, though, so it will be good to get the talking and reading over with and enjoy listening to the other two authors---Jane Fritz (Lake Pend Oreille book) and T.J. Keogh, a novelist from Newport.

~~~~~
Seeds are sprouting in the farm fields. The sunshine and warmth has been wonderful for getting rid of mud and encouraging growth. Color is starting to show up in various places around the yard in the form of hyacinths, crocuses and daffodils. More and more birds are adding their notes to the happy chorus of outside songs. Morning walks to the paperbox before sunrise are exhilarating. And, the pair of Love doves seem to be here to stay.

Horses are actually walking almost normally through the barnyard, searching for spears of new, growing grass to nibble at while they await the big day when they go to pasture.

Lots going on, as always this time of the year, and for the most part, it's good stuff, demanding hard work but rewarding great daily satisfaction.

~~~~~

Hope everyone has a happy Saturday.

Morning meeting of the BC minds: Brooke, Todd, Kiwi, Kea

Taking time out to smell the daffodils

Morning breaking over the Cabinets

A special afternoon with Mother Tibbs

I had told Mother that if yesterday's temperature reached expectations, I'd come and get her to come and sit on our deck.

It did.

I also had other ideas for her visit---that if they worked---would be a special treat.

They did.

After sitting on the deck, sipping on coffee and watching doggies play in the front yard, I told her about my plan.

I would bring the 4-wheeler to the deck steps, and we'd see if we could get her into the passenger seat.

She said she was up to that.

And, the plan worked. I strapped her in and brought a blanket so she could be warm if the breeze got to be a problem.

We drove around the yard, down the lane and into the hay field.

Five dogs joined us. Four raced at high speeds in circles around the field, stopping occasionally to do a little doggie rough housing with each other.

Meanwhile, old Annie trotted along at a pace, comfortable for a 14-year-old. Mother was amazed at Annie's endurance and her happy attitude.

All dogs were happy.

So, was Mother.

We drove on to the Lodgepole Society God Tree.

Afterward, we drove through the woods where Mother was able to see the week-old Yak calf, belonging to the Roche's next door.

Mother marveled at the beauty of the place---something I do every day.

To be so lucky to live on the Lovestead is a gift we'll never take for granted.

And, yesterday was a special gift, to see everyone around me enjoying themselves so much.

We returned to the deck. While Mother thumbed through a couple of Richard Lederer books about cats and dogs, I transplanted some pansies into a planter for her to keep at her house.

Later, Laurie came.

Since Bill was gone for the evening, we drove to Slate's for a nice dinner.

Tax day for me was very special.

I'll never forget the peace and bliss of spending yesterday afternoon far away from the insanity where we could witness and behold the beauty of nature and bask in a state of afternoon happiness.

I think my mother and the doggies would agree.

Grandpuppies, playing dog ball

Mother joined the Lodgepole Society yesterday.

She had gone on a ride around the place when we first moved here but had never been to the God Tree.

It was obvious from her entry in the log book that she was very moved by the serene setting where that tree stands so symbolically and beautifully.

The God Tree

A tree of reverence.

Annie Dog

I see you, Kiwi

The drive back from the God Tree aka Lodgepole Society Headquarters

Getting ready

It's getting-ready time.

Actually, I'm in the T-Minus and Counting mode cuz doggies are due to arrive soon.

Willie and Debbie are on a timetable, which puts them at Barbara's house to pick her up at a little after 7. They expect to be at the airport to meet their students at 9:30, and then it's off to Portland for the JEA National Convention.

I wish the yearbook and newspaper students the best of luck in their competitions, and I wish the chaperones an incident-free and fun convention.

Willie and Debbie will drop doggies off here at the Lovestead before going to Barbara's, so I'm guessing they're on their way.

I'm also getting ready for summer enjoyment.

Repainted the green Adirondack chairs last night and then went to Home Depot to get the neat red plastic chairs and cushions.

If the weather warms up as predicted, Mother will come this afternoon to enjoy some deck sitting.

She has a difficult time getting out of chairs, so I'm figuring the cushions will help a lot.

In the background, the doggie run lines are barely visible.

They'll be spending some time there as I continue to work in the yard.

Yesterday was a good day for getting things done and spruced up.

The majority of the day was devoted to the new blueberry bushes. They look pretty good over there in the north lawn.

I also took the lawnmower, with a high blade, over some of the messy lawn areas. It's amazing how much difference a quick runover will do in the appearance of even an early spring lawn.

Our soon-to-be-permanent neighbor Annie Coward brought me some of her homegrown garlic yesterday morning.

I stuck it in the ground; then Gail on Facebook said she thought garlic was supposed to be planted in the fall.

I'll take all garlic wisdom that anyone cares to dish out cuz I'd love to have garlic as a new addition to the garden.

I want to thank Sean Haynes at Keokee for doing some touch-ups on my web site, and as a "semi-starving author," I encourage readers to check it out and pass the word.

Most authors need all the help they can get to sell books these days, especially if the books are not filled with smut.

You can visit the website at (www.mariannelove.com) And, I'll appreciate your spreading the word to friends or relatives who might enjoy my books.

Doggies will be here soon, so that's all for now.

Happy Thursday.

Wednesday Twitters

I've got the twitters today, and Tuesday has already passed. I bypassed the twitters yesterday because I was too anxious to write about my neighbor Janice and her lawn and garden operation.

I found out later that Janice and Mark have a wedding scheduled for their backyard this summer, so I'll not go too hard on them for racing ahead of the game in our annual "Lawn and Garden Beautiful" competition. When you've got a wedding, you've got a good excuse for going all out at dressing up the place.

As for me, I don't think I'll ever catch up with Janice, but my OCDC condition keeps me crazy about weed eating, lawn mowing and digging up new dirt. So, I'll just do my best and plan to spend the spring and summer once more drooling over Janice and Mark's superior landscaping product.

Back to the twitters. There's nothing, in depth, going through my mind this morning except the urgency to get this thing written and get out there. Today begins real spring as we love it. Temps almost in the 60s and reaching almost the 70s by Friday.

No rain. And end to mud as we've hated it and a beginning to the prospects of actually mowing the lawn. By the way, Janice told me yesterday her lawnmower would be seeing its spring premiere before week's end. I told her that once the lakes leave my lawn, I'll be putzing around mine too. No fair. She lives on a hill where the water drains off a lot quicker.

When I start my 2010 continuous mowing project, I'll be winding in and out of doggie tracks cuz we're gonna have five of them again through Sunday. Willie and Debbie are going to the JEA National Journalism Convention along with 19 journalism students, 6 yearbook students, my sister Barbara and the SHS principal Dr. Becky Kiebert.

While they're in Portland keeping track of teenagers, I'll be in Selle keeping track of dogs. This time, though, we've added a few new twists to the doggie-sitting operation.

Last time, within an hour of when my doggie-sitting duty officially ended, Brooke and Todd ran off. All I could think of in their absence, while screaming out their names, was the time the dump truck had to come to a screeching stop to avoid hitting my errant Lily horse who had quietly disappeared from the Lovestead and found friends at Andersonville over on Selle Road.

"Not on my watch . . . they're not going to get squashed into the pavement, " I thought while frantically trying to yell loudly enough for the lost dogs to hear me from wherever they happened to be. After ten minutes, they finally reappeared in the lawn, with tongues hanging out. They came from the south where Selle Road and its fast drivers happen to be.

Five minutes later, Brooke again disappeared, as I was standing and raking in the lawn. Right under my nose, that dog ran off. After more frantic screams of "BROOKE . . .HERE, BROOKE," I spotted her, galloping back to the Lovestead down the center of South Center Valley Road from the south which would again be from Selle Road.

So, for this four-day sitting session, we've strung strings between the big trees in the yard. Dogs will have newer, longer leashes, and dogs----if they don't get tangled up in themselves---will stay happily within the yard. And, I'll smile, while sitting blissfully on my riding mower, knowing they are safe.

Lots to do out there, and it is calling. I don't know what time Janice starts on her lawn work in the morning. I'm guessing she has some accounting to do for their business, so if I get an early start this morning, maybe I can accomplish a little catching up with the Johnsons.

Enough twittering from this old bird. Have a great Wednesday.