Half The Week

          Our whistle-pig, as my grandfather called them, appeared this week. Groundhogs are true hibernators, fattening up before taking a 150-day nap. During this time, their body temp can drop from 99 degrees to 37. Their heart rate slows from 80 beats per minute to five and their breathing slows from 16 breaths a minute to as few as two. Because of this miracle of nature, he will lose no more than a fourth of his body weight while hibernating. Now it's time for him to wake up and go find a mate.

          The crocus have bloomed. Last year I spotted the pretty purple of a volunteer crocus among all the browns of winter in the brush line just beyond where Mike mows. I have no idea how she got there (flowers are girls) but there she was. I've been watching for her to bloom for a week before I finally saw her.

          The very next day it snowed. I went out and took pictures for you, which I'll show you in a minute, but for now, I wanted to show you the snow-covered crocus. If it wouldn't have been for the little spot of purple, I wouldn't have found her at all.

          So Monday morning we woke to several inches of the fluffy white stuff. I heard the weather forecast the night before so I wasn't surprised. The forecaster also said it wouldn't last long due to the rising daytime temperatures and the snow would quickly melt off. I knew I'd have to go out early for pictures or risk not getting any at all. For starters, I took a picture from my kitchen window as soon as there was enough light to make picture taking possible.

          Then I backed up and took a picture of my windowsill. Spring flowers on the inside, snow on the outside.

          I'd gotten the mini daffies from Relay For Life and the crocus was given to me at church the day before. Someone please tell me how to care for these guys. Do I just keep them damp until I can plant them outside? Do I deadhead them — pluck the spent blooms? Where outside should I plant them? Sun, shade? How deep? I really am a novice when it comes to growing things so helpful hints are appreciated.

          "Peg, you could Google it," you say.

          I know, right! But I would just as soon have tried and true tips rather than have to sift through the mountains of info I can find online. Besides, I love hearing from you.

          By the time I got ready to go out, the sun was shining in one part of the sky and the dark clouds were gathering in another.

          The pussy willows are blooming. The male blooms before the female therefore are more valued as a harbinger of spring.

          I checked the mail while I was out. A look down Robinson Road.

           I took Ginger with me. I carried her for a good part of the way. Once I got to the pond, I let her down to run. I knew she'd be tired of romping in the snow by the time we got to the house. She plows the snow with her nose.

          The pond is nice and full.

          Ginger kicking up the snow as she runs for me and the house.

         

          The weather forecaster was right. By the afternoon, almost all of our snow was gone. I expect this will be the last round of snow pictures until next winter but you never know. On Thursday and Friday, we woke to fat fluffy flakes falling lazily from the sky but they didn't amount to anything.

          I made lots of these little birds as springtime gifts and to be honest, I was a little tired of making them by the time I was done — however, I'd make more if I needed to. I think the one I liked best was the one I made for cousin Suzy.

          "I like the earth tones," she told me when I asked her what color she'd like.

          I made a brown bird with a dark brown wing and I think he's adorable.

          Now Angie, beautiful and awesome single mother of two awesome kids (one of which is my grandson Cody), wanted either a green or blue bird.

          Even though Angie is no longer related to me, you can't tell that to my heart. I decided to surprise her with both a blue and a green bird.

          She was surprised.

          "I love them!!!" she wrote.

          You see that? I got three exclamation points!!!

          I had to laugh at her 'earrings' when she sent me the picture. "It's the only way I could get them both in the picture by myself," she told me.

          "She looks like a fun lady," you say. "Someone I'd like to hang out with."

          I know, right! Me too!

          My whistle-pig was out foraging again a couple of days after the first time I saw him. "There's the groundhog," I made the mistake of telling Mike.

          "I'll get my grandfather's old hexagon barrel shotgun and shoot him," Mike said as he dashed out of the room.

          "Peg, you crack me up!" you say. "I know Mike and he doesn't dash anywhere!"

          Okay, okay. But he did leave the room abruptly. When he came back, he pushed up the kitchen window and stuck the gun out. He took careful aim and click. Nothing happened. He cocked the gun and tried again, with the same result. I guess it helps if you put bullets in. Mike thought he'd left it loaded but remembered he'd unloaded it when our grandson was old enough to explore our house on his own. It was in a secure location, a place he could never have gotten to, but we didn't want to take any chances. We'd never have forgiven ourselves if Andrew would have found it and gotten hurt — or worse!

          "Where's the bullets?" Mike asked.

          "I don't know," I answered before even thinking about if I knew or not. I wasn't going to help him kill the groundhog.

          "Are they on the breezeway?" he asked.

          "I don't know," I answered again and Mike, realizing I wasn't going to help, took off to look for himself.

          And then it happened.

          "What happened?" you wonder.

          And then I felt guilty. God ordained the husband as head of the household and the wife to be a helpmate. I'm to help and do as he asks as long as it doesn't conflict with God's word.

          But I don't want him to kill the whistle-pig, I cried to myself.

          But they're destructive, myself answers back.

          He's just a groundhog doing what groundhogs do. It's not malicious!

          Mike's head of the household and knows what's best, myself reminded me.

          I still don't want him to kill it! I'll trap him.

          You didn't have any luck trapping him last year, myself has a long memory.

          I'll try harder, I beg. I found some new tips online.

          You don't have a live trap anymore.

          Oh, yeah. You're right. I still don't want him to kill it!

          Myself frowns at me with a little steam coming out the ears.

          Okay, okay! I relent. Nothing like having a good old-fashion argument with yourself is there. I had an inkling the extra bullets were in a drawer in the bedroom. I went to check and they weren't there. I wandered into the closet and let my eyes scan the shelves and I spotted the bullets above the wardrobe. I reached for them and went to find Mike. "I've got them!" I called as he came back in the house. Mike loaded the gun and took a shot at the woodchuck.

          Woodchuck. Do you know how we came to call a groundhog a woodchuck? According to the website Wildlife Removal, it's a corruption of the Algonquin word "wuchak".

          "Peg, you're getting sidetracked," you say.

          I know, right! I just thought that was interesting.

          So, Mike loaded the gun, stuck it out the window and click. He pumped the gun, loading a bullet into the chamber, stuck the gun out the window....

          Don't look, Peg! I tell myself and turn away.

          Mike was taking a long time aiming; the whistle-pig quietly munching the grass had no idea his life was going to end. It can happen like that. Suddenly. Without warning. For us too. We must always be ready to walk on the other side.

          Mike was taking a long time aiming and I was getting anxious. I looked. POP. It was just like that, a tiny little pop, not a great big KA-BOOM like I expected. The whistle-pig took off for his den and didn't come out again for a couple of days.

          Check this out. Every house needs a 32-inch TV in the bathroom, don't you think?

          Mike pestered me and pestered me to let him have a TV in the bathroom.

          "I like to watch the news while I'm shaving," he justified.

          I held out for as long as I could but he wore me down.

          That cat!

          That darn cat!

          Yeah, Smudge.

          He helped me with the laundry the other day. He's checking to make sure I didn't miss anything when I pulled the clothes from the dryer.

          Speaking of cats, Mike has a lapful! There's Smudge and his cousins Spitfire and Rascal. Ginger is in her usual spot on the footrest.

          Sometimes the cats will nap in Mike's chair. "Look at that, Peg," he says. "They're waiting for me to sit down." He sits down and he's like a cat magnet. Every cat in the house — and a couple of little dogs — will pile into his lap.

          Oh no! Don't you feel sorry for him! He loves it!

          I went to get our mail on Tuesday and I nearly always take my camera with me. I hardly ever take any pictures but you never know, so I take it anyway. As I was coming back a little Downey Woodpecker landed on the feeding tree. I stood still and he made his way to the suet feeder. Slowly I crept closer and closer, firing off shots as I went. I got this close before he spooked and flew away.

          In our mail was an ad circular for the Agway store in Dushore. They had a couple of things on sale that we were interested in. "Wanna go?" Mike asked after he perused the circular.

          "Sure!" I'm almost always up for a road trip but we didn't go that day. When we did go Mike had several stops planned, "Plus a surprise," he told me.

          I love surprises!

          How about some road pictures?

           Here's a couple of barn pictures I took on the way into Dushore.

          Then we were at the Agway.

          "Peg, it looks wet," you say.

          Yep. It was raining on and off all day.

          One of the things we bought was Seresto flea collars for our inside pets. These have been on the market for a while now and everyone I've talked to who's used them have been pleased. So we thought we would try them this year. The collars last for eight months, "Longer if you take it off before you bathe them," the lady at the store told us. It sure beats putting medicine on their necks every month.

          Mike and I walked around the store for a little bit. I had to take a picture of these huge — wait a minute, HUGE rawhide bones. "What kind of a dog do you give these to?" I asked Mike but he didn't know.

          More pictures.

          "And I even took a picture of downtown Dushore," I told Momma on the phone when I was telling her about it.

          "And that is the only traffic light in all of Sullivan County," Momma told me.

          I was shocked. "There's only one traffic light in all of Sullivan County?" Like she didn't just get done saying that, right.

          "That's right," she calmly said.

          Mike was nearby and after I got off the phone I told him.

          "Are you sure?" he doubted. "Sullivan County's a big county."

          "I guess she knows what she's talking about. She's lived here for 20 years. I'll Google it."

          You really can find anything on Google! This map came up of Sullivan County Traffic Signal Locations and there is only one single red dot right over Dushore.

          The old hotel in Dushore.

          Apples? Are those apples still on the tree?

          We left Dushore and drove up 220 toward Towanda. Coming into the little town of New Albany we spot a new grave in the cemetery.

          "Aww," I say. "A new grave," and it made my heart sad.

          Mike was driving but glanced anyway. "Do you think it's Lisa's?" he asked.

          "I don't know."

          Lisa is the daughter of my mom's caregiver when my mom lived here in Pennsylvania. I'll not say was the daughter, Lisa will always be their daughter. She went home to be with our Lord almost two weeks ago now.

          I've heard it said that when you lose your spouse you're a widow (or widower). If you lose your parents, you're an orphan. But there is no word for having lost your child. It is a heartache that no parent should have to endure and yet there are plenty of us who have crossed that bridge, joined that club, and experienced that pain.

          More road pictures.

          They used pieces of tree with the bark still on for trim around the windows.

  

          I've taken pictures of this barn for years and now it's laying on the ground.

          This is coming down into Towanda.

         

          I went into the Rainbow Thrift store (in Towanda) and found some mini bread tins for twenty-five cents each. My mother prefers sweets that aren't too sweet in her goodie box and really enjoys Miss Rosie's banana bread. I remember when I was growing up that Momma liked date nut bread too. I found a recipe in one of my old cookbooks and made it for her this last time I sent her a box, and yes, she liked it. I do already have a mini loaf pan but it's a single pan with eight mini loaves and they're smaller than these.

          I Googled it and found out that a recipe for a single loaf will make three mini loaves. I know that Miss Rosie only has one mini loaf pan and I thought I might share my booty with her. I don't even know if she wants more mini loaf pans. I haven't asked her yet.

          We left Towanda and on the way out of Wysox I got my surprise. Instead of going home the way we normally go home we took a road Mike doesn't really like to drive on. That gave me an opportunity for more road pictures for you.

          This is the power plant at Wysox.

          I usually show it to you from the other side.

   

          Another final resting place.

  

          I got a picture of a turkey vulture on a round hay bail. This is my desktop photo on my computer this week.

          Two pictures of the same barn.

          Well, my loves, I've completed Half The Week and still have more than 20 pictures and a couple of stories left to round out the week. However, printed, this is already 12 pages and 2,661 words. I'm very aware of the fact that I've become long-winded. I used to limit myself to four printed pages and over the last couple of years, 12 is more my average. I know it's too much for some of you. And I know some of you don't care how many pages it is because you savor every word and picture (well, maybe not so much the poop or dead critter pictures). Without the pictures, my letter blogs wouldn't be nearly so long but Momma loves the pictures and never complains so they stay.

          Let's call this one done!