I was browsing the troubling, even downright depressing news headlines of the day when I finally landed on Donald Trump and his half-hearted choice of Mike Spence, Governor of Indiana, as his vice-presidential running mate. Then, for no apparent reason out of the blue, so to speak, I thought about the intelligence of plants. Continue reading
Granddaughter Mirabella in the Yukon Gold
I don’t like using the expression, but I guess I have to admit to “growing old.” I still feel perky enough after I get up with the sunrise, just before 6 a.m. here in Hope Ness, have my morning coffee or two, or three, and some toast or a bowl of cereal.
My daily “to do” list is longer than ever, so much so that there hasn’t been enough time and energy to do a daily post. I’m always anxious to get an early-morning start with the outside work. I know by mid-afternoon most of that once-boundless energy will be pretty well done for the day. Continue reading
I’ve always had a lot of respect for traditional farm families, those people who have devoted their lives to the backbreaking and often heartbreaking job of trying to scratch a living from the ground, day after day, year after year, sometimes generation after generation. A good part of my childhood was spent living with and amongst such people, and I’m sure it taught me a lot about what life is all about for most people who live on this earth: hard work, the planting of seeds, and plenty of hopes and prayers that the sweat of one’s brow will be rewarded with a bountiful life-supporting harvest. I believe those things apply to any honest work a person might take on.