July Joy

DSC_4732Joyous weddings nurture my spirit.

Daddy dance: our son and the flower girl (our Aria) dancing

Wine tasting with Dan and la Bella (my brother and sis-in-law, Valeri)

I’ve wanted one of these giant (= mellow) wind chimes for years. An early birthday gift!

DSC_5160Kizzy, Little Bit, Jemima, Baby Girl, Violet, Pony Boy, Cookie

DSC_5243The Bee Gee’s “Stayin’ Alive” is this plant’s theme song.
Not to be dramatic, but sometimes keeping it alive seems my greatest challenge.

DSC_5250Reintroducing radishes to my palate.

DSC_5210A royal bloom

DSC_2836A byproduct of forced frugality early in life is the thrill of a matched set later in life!


Reading aloud to my grands is one of my passions. I often read during meals as they eat. Water colors, sketching, markers, or play dough also help occupy their hands during non-meal times. This was my oldest grandson’s creation during today’s read aloud session.


10 Things about June


When she saw Reading Cookbooks , Donna at Quiet Life
recommended The Pat Conroy Cookbook to me.


 Her hair is so fine, it won’t stay in line. Her aunt fixed this pixie.



Hanging plants at my house: a cycle of death and resurrection.
When blossoms are perky, I take a picture.



 No dimples today. That’s okay.



 Penstemon: a happy perennial. The bee’s knees.



How to eat peanut butter and honey with sacramental gladness.



 Garlic scapes: attractive parabolas



 Oh, beloved clematis, you always amaze and delight me.



 My farmer grandson ready for showmanship.


My young friend with a beguiling smile.

Between Ewe and Me


“Nothing’s happening with the sheep right now” were the parting words from the parents. Allrighty then, just make sure the regular chores get done, I thought. We were doing a grandparent gig out at our kids’ mini-farm. Just in case, I had the Lambing Crash Course stuck to the front of the fridge. Gulp.

I’m a suburban girl–the kind who gets squeamish about picking up dog doo. The plastic bag and steaming stuff…?? No, no, no, no, no. <gag> Not in my skill set. When I told my husband about the Crash Course, he chuckled. As if anyone thinks moi will be in the pen, let alone “pulling” a lamb.  I loved all the James Herriot books from the warmth of my pillow and down comforter. I just never imagined needing to use the word pulled in conjunction with any animal.

It was inevitable: Gavin (our remarkable pre-teen farmer/grandson) busted into the house and announced that things were happening. Of course, my husband was at work. I was the lone adult on site. We called the closest neighbor: gone. We called another neighbor (who, in this small-town-world happens to be my boss): gone. But beautiful Sue and her three girls came over to help. We failed to get Mama penned. She galloped across the pasture two or three times. Funny, I never could run like that right before giving birth. Finally, we formed a human fence and coaxed Mama into the lambing pen.

Our next job was to wait. Gavin monitored Mama every thirty minutes. The third time the timer buzzed, he wondered how necessary it was to check this time. I’ll go with you, I said. Solidarity, I thought. A younger brother joined us. As we approached the pens, Gavin started yelling, There’s two lambs!

We were unprepared. No towels on hand to *Clean mouth & nose first. Gavin hiked off his hoodie, whipped his tee shirt off, put his hoodie back on and began wiping goojies from their faces.

DSC_0728Brother and sister bringing supplies.

Even I knew we needed to get the baby lambs nursing. This was, um, complicated. Mama must have been the winner of Miss Woolly Oregon. And little Luke and Leia (as Gavin named the babies) couldn’t locate the teats.


Gavin reached his hand in the nether-parts trying to find the udder and help the lamb attach. You are way too far back, I said, helpfully. You need to be closer to the front legs.

No, Nana, Gavin said with a firmness that belied his age. We held eye contact for a second. Then I looked pointedly at my chest and raised my eyebrows. I shrugged. We’re both mammals, n’est ce pas?

No, Nana, Gavin repeated with conviction.

And, it turns out, that 4H boy knows his anatomy. The udder of sheep, in case you didn’t know, is close to the groin.

I got in the pen (while wondering What is the etymological connection between pen and open?) and dried one of the little darlings with a towel.


When nature was working, we left the pen and walked back to the house. As we approached the door, Gavin threw his arm around my shoulder and said, Good job, Nana! Praise I will treasure to my last breath.