A Week

           A week can be a long time—when you’re young or doing something you don’t love.

          A week can fly by—in the blink of an eye—when you’re old.

          Like me.

          It brings tears to my eyes to think of all the days I wasted. All the days I plodded along, working in a factory, focused on the weekend when I wouldn’t have to go to work, wouldn’t have to get up early.

          Now I get up early because I’m anxious to start my day.

          Sometimes I wish I’d’ve been born in the old days, when things were simpler. Your family lived in the same community, you didn’t buy gas because you went everywhere on foot or by horse, read by oil lamps, grew your own food, and kept your milk cool in a spring house.

          “Really, Peg?” you say.

          Okay, okay! I gave up that wish a long, long time ago. I like modern conveniences. I like having a car and electricity (even though both are getting more and more expensive), I like taking a shower, having a washing machine and refrigerator. But best of all, I love modern technology. Computers let me touch base with all my peeps every morning—via email—rather than depend on the postal service for a once a month letter—if there was a letter at all. How lonely it must’ve been for some people.

          All of that is just the musing of an old woman.

          A week flies by for me and before I know it, it’s time to sit down and jibber-jabber away about my week.

          Last week I wrote in such a hurry that I missed things I’d intended to tell you.

          “Like what?” you ask.

          Like my feisty red-haired neighbor and her handsome husband.

          On a recent outing to have lunch with their daughters, Lamar hit a deer and crinkled the front of Miss Rosie’s car.

          “It could’ve been worse. We could’ve been in Lamar’s car.” Miss Rosie was looking for the silver lining.

          “What happened?” I asked.

          “We were driving along and I see a deer coming down the bank. I said, ‘Deer! Deer!’ Lamar got slowed down but still hit it with the front corner.”

          Planning on recounting the story, I asked, “Was that ‘Deer, dear’ — with two e’s and then e‑a — or ‘Deer, deer’ with two e’s both times?”

Rosie laughed. “Deer, deer — two e’s both times, like the animal,” she said.

          “What happened to the deer?”

          “It got up and ran away.”

          Miss Rosie was afraid they’d total her car out because it was so old. “Then I’ll have to decide if I even want to get another one. I don’t drive very often.”

          Because I forgot to tell you about it last week, I have a conclusion to the story. The insurance company is going to pay to repair it.

          “That’s what I wanted to happen.” Miss Rosie breathed a sigh of relief. “Now I don’t have to make all those other hard decisions.”

          Something else I meant to tell you about has to do with the title of last week’s letter blog, Sometimes.

          Sometimes I get the photo I want —

          —sometimes I don’t.

          That’s how I started. I meant to circle back around and tell you about the shot I wanted and missed.

          Mike and I were crossing the open-grate bridge at Laceyville when an eagle flew in front of us and soared down the Susquehanna.

          “An eagle!” I exclaimed as I lost sight of him behind the trees.

“Trees? In the middle of the river?” you have to wonder.

The Susquehanna is full of little vegetation-covered islands. This one has a healthy population of trees.

I’m watching this eagle disappear and in my mind’s eye, I thought I could still get a shot of him over the water. But somebody—who is not me—somebody who’s in charge of the gas pedal, slowed down.

I don’t remember what I said, if I said anything at all, but I wanted to scream, “GO FASTER!” When we got to where I could see down the river, he was gone.

“Maybe he has a nest,” I speculate. That would explain why he was no longer in flight. I’m watching the trees and by the time I see there is a nest, we were at the far shoreline and tree branches obstructed my view. I fired off a few quick shots and it’s only in this one that you can see the nest—and maybe an eagle perched there.

       

          Last week, as I worked on my letter blog, my beautiful Jody came to see me.

          Actually, that’s sort of not true. It’s not really a lie because she did drive up my driveway to see me, although I think she was going home when she decided to stop.

          “Your husband is stuck,” Jody said. “I stopped to ask if he needed help but he said he’d get it out. Then he asked if you had texted me.”

          The church in Wyalusing had their yearly sale last weekend. Mike took me the first day but he didn’t want to go back the next day. “You can go by yourself,” he said.

          “Maybe I will,” I said. “Maybe I’ll ask Miss Rosie to go with me.” Then I reconsidered. I don’t like to drive plus Mike won’t let me take pictures when I’m driving. “Maybe I’ll text Jody and see if she wants to take me.” And that’s how we left it. I didn’t actually text her because I thought it might be rude to ask her to drive me.

          “Mike said you wanted to go the church sale tomorrow?” Jody queried. “I wanted to go, too, but I thought it was today only. I’ll pick you up around 9:30.”

          Jody is a good friend.

          After she left I went back to my blog work. Then my phone rang.

          “I’m stuck,” Mike said.

          I went to his rescue.

          It took more than an hour to get the tractor out of the mud.

       

          At first we tried to pull it out with the Gravely zero turn mower.

“It’s pretty powerful,” Mike said.

It did move the Kioti a little, but not enough. Being in a new spot, Mike backed up thinking he’d find firmer footing, but he didn’t, and ended up just as stuck in the new place as he was before.

As a last resort, we had to go get this bad boy, which Mike didn’t really want to do.

“Why not?” you wonder.

It’s too hard to get on and off of. Especially if you want to use the backhoe. You have to stand up and pull the operator’s seat around and climb in it before you can operate the backhoe.

          I was the chain operator. I attached the chain to the bucket and Mike curled the bucket in. When it wouldn’t move the Kioti anymore, I’d have to go down and readjust the chain for another pull. I went up and down that bank a hundred times—or so it seemed at the time. I was exhausted and my legs were like jelly by the time we got the tractor out.

          “Why didn’t Mike just back up the backhoe?” you ask.

          Simple. The pond was behind him. And the pond is the reason the bank is nothing but a quagmire. It leaks.

          “What were you thinking?!” I asked.

          “I was thinking I could mow it and if it got muddy I could push myself out,” he answered.

          Speaking of the Kioti, Mike has been working on the bank by the lower barn. He’s cleaned a bunch of brush and stumps out and graded the bank enough that he can mow it.

          It’s keeping him busy and it looks good! Although, I have to wonder how the resident whistle pig is faring.

          “Did you bury the groundhog hole?” I asked.

          “Was there a groundhog hole there?”

          I guess that answers that question.

          I won’t worry about him. Mike didn’t want groundhogs that close to the building—they tend to undercut the foundation.

          Mike took the backhoe to the barn and I followed on the Kioti. I was surprised when we get around to the front and both the girls are sitting at the fence waiting for us. I don’t think they use that part of the dog run very much and I’ve never seen them come out front to watch us.

          Jody picked me up Saturday for the last day of the church sale.

          “Did you find anything?” you ask.

          Did I find anything! I hope to tell ya!

          I picked up a Prism professional art projector. It says so on the box. I thought if I project my photos on to my paper then I wouldn’t have to use carbon or graphite transfer paper anymore. And that would suit me fine! I hate the smudges they leave behind, no matter how careful I am.

          I got a ball launcher. I’m hoping I can teach Raini to drop a ball in it, then I wouldn’t have to throw it for her as much. If I can’t, I know a gal who’s got some little boys and would probably love to have it.

          I got a brown leather purse. Jody originally picked it up and was checking it out. “You should get that,” I told her. “That’s a really nice leather purse.”

          “I don’t need another brown purse,” she said. Then she handed it to me. “You should get it.”

          I didn’t think I needed a purse at all. “If it’s not big enough to hold both my cameras, I don’t want it.”

          It really is a beautiful leather purse and being the last hour of the sale, everything was dirt cheap. I added the purse to my pile of treasures.

Surprisingly, I’ve used it a couple of times since then.

Later in the week, Mike and I were getting around to go someplace. Normally I’m juggling my coffee cup, my cameras, and my purse. Sometimes I put the camera straps around my neck, sometimes I put the cameras in my bag. Even though they’ll fit in the carry bag I call my purse, I worry that with everything else in there, that I’ll scratch the lens. I picked up the brown leather purse—and it does hold both my cameras!

          In the section with kitchen wares, I found this thing.

          “What is that?” Jody asked.

          “I don’t know, but it’s cool so I’m taking it.”

          I happened to be talking with my best, old friend in West Virginia later that day and I asked her if she might know what it’s for.

          “It’s clearly made for something,” she said.

Both ends are thin, like a blade. It’s signed, but I don’t know if it’s meant as TLC or if it’s a cross and LC.

          “What does AI say it is?” she asked.

          “AI thinks it’s a spoon blank, but I don’t think it is. It’s pretty thin, only about a quarter inch wide.”

          I took it to church with me and asked a few people there.

          “I think it’s something for skinning,” Wolfie says. “A metal tool might puncture the hide where a wood one wouldn’t.”

          It’s the only guess that sounds reasonable to me. This tool, whatever it’s for, actually fits quite well in your hand when you hold it in the center. You could use either the wide end for large areas or flip it over and use the more narrow end. Both ends are thin and almost razor sharp.

          I took pictures as Jody and I went to check out another yard sale.

       

          It was such a nice day hanging out with a girlfriend, and much more fun than going to yard sales with our husbands.

          “If there aren’t any tools, my husband isn’t interested, then he waits in the truck,” Jody said.

          “I know, right! Mike does the express tour then waits in the car for me!”

          Even though both our husbands patiently wait for us, there is a benefit to shopping with a friend. Jody and I stayed together, for the most part, and helped each other see things the other might’ve missed.

 

          Our neighbors Jon and Steph went to Pittsburgh for the birth of their only child’s first baby. Oliver Greyson Feathers came into the world April 10^th. He weighed in at a healthy 6 lbs 11 oz and 19.5 inches. Isn’t he just the most beautiful baby?!

          I had the pleasure of taking care of their critters while they were gone. The cats, Tippy and Poppy, messed up the kitchen rugs every single day and every single day I’d straighten them out. When I’d go in Tippy would come running to greet me and I gave him some loves. Poppy was a little more standoffish.

          “She is more standoffish,” Steph told me. “She graces us with her presence when she wants! She does give Jon more of her time but Tippy gives me more of his, so it’s even!!”

We’ve been taking the girls and the golf cart over in the early afternoon to feed the cats and the fish. Mike, Bondi, and Raini watch as I scooped the litter box at the scooping station on the porch.

Between the time we left our house and the time we went home, all of about ten—maybe fifteen minutes, a tree came down in the road. It was a surprise because it wasn’t even windy.

I let Raini drag her leash as I picked up the branches I could manage and tossed ‘em off the road. Bondi always wants Mike to hold her when we’re on the cart so we never take her leash. We’re always afraid to let them loose together because one of them will encourage the other and off they go. But on this day we had to take a chance. The tree was too big for Mike to move one-handed.

I put Bondi on the seat and said in a very stern I’m-not-messing-around voice, “STAY!” and I pointed my finger at her. She obeyed and stayed while I helped Mike move the heavy end of the fallen tree off the road.

          Speaking of fallen trees, we had a big storm roll through our beautiful mountains. Lots of thunder, lightning, and terrible winds. Our power was out for somewhere around 12 hours.

          Lamar and Tux, out for their daily walk, stopped for a short visit the next morning. “There’s a big tree that came down right by the township line,” he told us. “Someone had to use a chainsaw to cut it up and get it off the road. Another one came down and busted Jon’s trash can.”

          I took pictures when we went to take care of their critters.

          “Let’s take a ride and see what else we can see,” I suggested.

          Mike is a good husband and took us for a ride down to the lower bridge. We didn’t see a lot of downed trees on our short ride. This one hanging down the bank by his roots is the only other one I took a picture of.

          I did spot a branch I wanted to take home.

          “What are you going to do with it?” my handsome mountain man asked.

          “I don’t know, but it’s a nice-looking branch.” He didn’t know that I wasn’t really serious.

On the way home from our ride, Mike passed it by and I didn’t say anything.

          Suddenly, he remembered. “Oh. Where’s the branch?”

          “You already passed it,” I said.

          Mike backed up until we came to the branch then he put it across the back of the cart and we took it home. Once at home, Mike hefted it over the fence.

          “Peg! What are you going to do with that?!”

          I’m not sure, yet. I’ve been looking at it out my kitchen window for days now.

I’ve wanted to make a crow feeding station for months. They don’t need anything fancy — just space, stability, visibility, and the right food. I’m thinking about putting it across the top corner of the fence in the back. Now I’m thinking I’ll stand this guy up in the corner and put my feeding station in front of it. It’s got nice stout branches for the crows to land on.

“Keep us posted,” you say.

You know I will.

Speaking of branches, one of mine came down. I like using natural materials for the birds to land on. Mike is a good husband and allows me to do these things—and he put my branch back up for me.

We fared better than our son in Missouri.

“Our house is fine. We lost power from 9:30 until 6 the next morning. We may have lost our pool, 2 panels to the fence, and maybe a 4x4 post,” Kevin says.

He sent me pictures.

I have more road pictures to show you, but I’m running out of space this week. I really try to keep my jibber-jabber to five pages printed on both sides. So, having said that, I’ll fill up one more page and save the road pictures for another day.

          I’m working on a dog portrait. Almond is a German Shorthair Pointer. I’m not done with it, I know it needs to be darker, and in the end it may not come out good enough for me. I decided before I even put one brush stroke to the paper that this would be practice. If it comes out good, that’s great! If it doesn’t, that’s okay, too. I’ll try again, with a better idea of what I like and what I don’t.

          Taking a picture inside with my lights pulls out all the yellows, so I took it outside.

          Sometimes I want to paint just for the fun of painting. I got out my old book and pulled up some cute pictures from Pinterest.

          Tiger helps. He swished his tail across the freshly outlined bunny.

Sometimes Tiger just watches—or naps nearby.

I didn’t plan the critter stack very well and ran out of room for the dog on the bottom.

I don’t care. I’m practicing my freehand drawing and outlining with a brush and I don’t care that much about how my paint job comes out.

And I’m using really cheap paints.

          With that, let’s call this one done!

          Done!

Sometimes

 

Sometimes I get the photo I want —

          —sometimes I don’t.

          Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

          We went out a couple of times this week. One of our trips took us to Dushore to pay the spring taxes.

          I made breakfast burritos this week. I start with the best farm fresh eggs. I get them from one of our church peeps. Leo and Felicia get more eggs than they can sell so they’re kind and generous enough to bring the extras to church and share with us.

I said I start with the eggs, but that’s not quite true. I start with making my own tortillas.

“They’re not as good with store-bought tortillas,” my best, old, West Virginia friend told me. I’d made them for Trish when she was here for a visit last year.

When I make breakfast burritos, I scramble the egg and fry it in a sheet, like an omelet, otherwise the scrambles fall out the bottom when I’m eating it. Then I roll them individually in foil and freeze them.

          Ben, the widower of my friend Joanie, lives on the way to Dushore so I dropped a half dozen off to him. I’m sure she would like knowing we’re remembering him even though she’s gone.     

          I took pictures.

                We passed a farm where Amish men were taking down a silo. I wasn’t quick enough to make a picture.

          “I’ll get it when we come back this way,” I told Mike.

          “I was going to go home the other way,” he said.

          I resigned myself to having missed the shot.

          Suddenly, Mike slowed, pulled off the road, and turned around for me — for you! This isn’t something I see every day so I took pictures from both directions.

Mike filled up the gas cans while we were in Dushore.

          “We’ll have to cut down on the grass we mow,” I said.

          I know we don’t have the worst gas prices in the country, but it sure does put a hurt on your pocketbook.

          Across from the gas station is the ball field. While signs like this one saying, “Not responsible for injuries due to use of facilities,” may discourage frivolous lawsuits, it truly doesn’t release them from liability due to their negligence in maintenance of the playground.

          Too bad the hawk was facing the other way.

          My oldest and much-adored sister called.

          “We’re on the back roads,” I told her, “So if I lose you, you’ll know why.”

          “I just have a quick question,” she said.

          Mike found a nice spot off the road to pull over while I chatted with Patti.

          Across the way was a farm and I snapped photos of the cows.

          When we were on our way again, Mike slowed for me. Raini, in the backseat, saw the cows and started barking. The cows stopped grazing to look.

          In the next pasture were goats. Big goats and little goats.

          It wasn’t until I had the pictures on my computer that I saw the cat sitting there in the pasture with the goats.

          We’re almost back out to our road, just crossing a little bridge over a creek, when a young eagle flies in front of us.

           There’s a shot I would not have gotten if my sister hadn’t called and Mike hadn’t pulled over. Timing is everything!

 

          When we left our house, there was a woodpecker looking for bugs in the grass. I was surprised that he was still there when we got home. This is a male Northern Flicker woodpecker. They often forage on the ground for ants and beetles rather than hammering trees.

          This past Friday is the day I look forward to for a year!

          “What’s so special about it?” you wanna know.

          This Friday is the first day of the church sale in Wyalusing. I love this church sale. Everything is reasonably priced, cheap even. And they usually have some pretty good stuff. I usually go the first day and get the things I really want. Then I go back the second day for their half-off sale and get more stuff, usually stuff I don’t really need. Sometimes, though, it’s things I didn’t see on the first day.

          With the bridge being out, I decided I probably wouldn’t go the second day this year. Probably.

          Mike and I went to Wyalusing by way of Wysox.

I took pictures.

          On one stretch of road, just before Wysox, someone has three or four signs in the yard that say, “NO D C.”

          “What’s D C?” I asked Mike but he didn’t know. I’ve since found out it means Data Center. I didn’t even know they were considering one in the area.

          I found a lot of goodies at the church sale. When I got home I spread them out on the table, Tiger helped, and took a picture.

          I got a pack of Arches watercolor paper for a dollar. There was only one sheet gone and if it was new, this would be forty-five dollars. I also got a brand spankin’ new, still sealed in plastic, light box. I do have one, but it’s the kind that you plug into your computer via USB cable. I’m hoping this style of light box will be brighter.

          I found two cartridges and a pack of blades for my Cricut machine, several plates for my Sizzix press, a paper punch that punches out large, scalloped circles (original price of twenty-six dollars), envelopes, and a bag of seventeen little wooden plaques. Everything for ten buckaroos. What a deal!

          I couldn’t open one of the Cricut cartridge cases. Mike looked it over and found a very thin but tough plastic wrap on it.

          Tiger helped.

          I didn’t even know what I was getting and I was pleasantly surprised when we finally got it open. It’s got all kinds of Christmas designs. Now I’m excited to make Christmas cards this year!

          Something else I picked up were a couple of books. One of them was the book Jesus Freaks. I bought books one and two many, many years ago and enjoyed reading all the short stories of people who’ve been martyred for Jesus Christ. I gave mine away. Since then I’ve found the books again and I buy them for my church peeps.

          The other book I found was this sweet little handmade book of poems.

          It is signed, but there’s no date. The paper appears to be linen. The writing is small and hand printed with a dip pen. The poems are by published authors. The illustrations were done in watercolor.

          I spent quite a long time trying to find out more information about this book.

          Copilot analyzed the photos and guesses this is a book made for someone special or a school project before ball point pens became common. The style is typical of 1930s–40s women’s art education when young people were encouraged to practice penmanship. It was made with great care, skill, and patience.

          Diving into the E. Wallace name, Copilot searched local records and came up three possibilities, noting that Eleanor Wallace is the most likely creator of this book.

          I spoke with another lady at the sale. She was probably a few years older than me.

          “This is what’s going to happen to all our stuff when we die,” I told her.

          “I know. My husband died and I offered the kids and grandkids to come and get what they wanted — they didn’t want anything.”

          Someone close by said, “If we’re lucky it’ll end up at a sale and not a landfill.”

          Boy, was she right!

          “What are you going to do with the book?” you ask.

          I don’t know for sure. What do you think I should do with it? Who would want it?

 

          I left the church sale before I got through everything because I was tired of carrying my stuff around.

          We took a different way home and I took more pictures. 

          The first thing I took a picture of before we left town was the bridge from the side that was damaged. It was blocked off and I didn’t get out of the car. The damage isn’t readily apparent, not like I thought it would be when they said how badly it was damaged.

          Laundry on the line.

          A sure sign of spring.

          It looks like there’s a bunch of dead leaves inside the window!

          I had my camera at the ready so I didn’t miss any shots and these guys happen to look up as we passed by. I took their picture.

“There’s a caboose back there,” I told Mike and snapped a picture.

       

Zooming in, I don’t think that anymore. I think it’s just someone’s cabin.

          Why did the turkey cross the road?

          I thought the horse was outside the fence, and then I saw the single strand of electrified wire.

          We’re almost home when I see an eagle soaring on the air currents above the field next to our house.

          I snapped pictures as Mike drove along.

          “There’s two of them!” I exclaim as we’re pulling in the driveway.                   

But it wasn’t. It was an eagle and a vulture sharing the air currents.

           Tree's leafing out and Coltsfoot popping up aren’t the only thing spring brings.

           It wakes up the bears, too.

          “A bear knocked over my birdfeeder pole.” Neighbor Sally flagged us down as we were going past on the golf cart. “If you could cut the post off for me, I might be able to dig up the metal piece.”

          “I’d be happy to,” Mike said. “In fact, why don’t I bring the tractor over, hook a chain on it and just pull it out of the ground for you?” He’s a good neighbor.

          “That would be alright,” Sally said.

          The tractor made short work of something that would’ve taken Sally a lot of time and sweat to accomplish.

          This tractor story leads to another tractor story, but you’re going to have to wait until next week to hear that one.

          Another story you’ll have to wait for is my second trip back to the church sale. Even though it took place this week and should be in this edition of Peggy’s Jibber-Jabber, I’m running late and want to get this one sent.

         

          Let’s call this one done.