To be continued....

.... on my blog Sprinkles..... which you can access by clicking on 'View Profile'  -- Life has gotten busier than usual.... and I'm finding it hard to keep up with both the 'Country Life' blog and Sprinkles.  Being that Sprinkles was started in 2004, I've decided to keep that going instead of this one.

Thank you all for reading Country Life/City Wife........... and I hope to see you on Sprinkles.

It's been a while...

...and I have not kept up with my Blogs, except for "What Book Are You Reading Now?"  I have been reading constantly, whenever I have the time, make the time, take the time.

Time. It's life most precious gift. Read "The Time Keeper" by Mitch Albom. It will open your eyes, expand your heart, and you will never want to waste another minute on trivial nonsense.

I have been busy trying to find a literary agent for "A Puppy Named Savannah."  I've sent out two query letters, to two different agents at two different literary agencies.  Haven't heard a word from either one of them, but that's not so unusual if I can believe the web-sites of these agencies.  I will continue to send out more query letters and sample chapters.... until I find an agent who "gets" this story of our Savannah.

 I recently found an interesting quote from author Madeleine L'Engle.... "You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for the children."

Maybe I should be promoting "A Puppy Named Savannah" as a Young Adult book.

Each week has brought more horrific news... cities across the country are in turmoil, police are being shot and killed, a military coup attempted to take over Turkey, and terrorist individuals and/or groups continue to use weapons, bombs, and vehicles to kill innocent people in the name of... what? who? Allah? Is Allah the sort of God who would condone such actions? Would any God worth their godliness celebrate the killing of children and families?

Which reminds me of another quote, by author David Baldacci:  "Why can't people just sit and read books and be nice to each other?"

We have just this one planet. One single solitary planet that we live on. There is no other planet to escape to.... this is it, people.

I was looking at the web-site of Pearl Fryar... a man from Bishopville, South Carolina, who has transformed the property around his lovely home into the most beautiful, magical, serene gardens... the beauty there is palpable. You can feel it as soon as you walk through Mr. Fryar's gate. If a person were blind and could not see the beauty that Mr. Fryar has created there, that blind person would feel what is there with every fiber of his/her soul.  It is that beautiful... it is that magical.  I know this for a fact. We went there two years ago. Mr. Fryar gave us a personal tour of his gardens and his artwork that he creates from other people's cast-offs.  If there is one person walking on this earth that embodies all that is good and kind and god-like, that one person would be Pearl Fryar.

In a sunny section of Mr. Fryar's garden, he has carved three words into the green lushness of his landscape: PEACE.  LOVE.  GOODWILL.

We need those three things in this world at the moment. Definitely more peace. Certainly more love. And always and forever, more goodwill.

Sunday...

I have not been the best company lately, that's for sure. In one blessed heart-beat, I would have a For Sale sign out on the front lawn here. I cannot see myself living in this big old house until my last day on this planet, which could come sooner than one thinks given the number of scorpions and snakes that have been around lately. Not to mention the bitterness that sweeps over me every time I bring Savannah outside into the yard and see her shaking with fear when she looks over at the road.

When Savannah goes outside in the morning, she is the happiest of dogs... her tail is up and she walks easily around the grass without a care in the world. Her afternoon walk is just the same. However... it's the after-dinner walk that's heart-breaking. I am certain that Savannah remembers that night when she bolted and ran off because of the neighbor's fireworks. And no matter how charitable I can feel towards that neighbor during the daylight hours, all of the badness comes up to the surface when I see what Savannah goes through just to be outside before it gets dark.  I sound like a broken record with this, and no one knows that better than me. As I said, I've not been the best of company, not even for myself.

I've been searching for book editors, and doing research on 'query' letters. I have written out such a letter in long-hand, correcting and changing it, putting it aside and once again editing it.  I think I have found an editor that would understand and appreciate a story about a puppy written in diary format, with many entries written by the puppy herself.

Our illustrious handyman has been here for a couple of weeks, washing the house and removing bird nests that are no longer being used by the barn swallows. It's the nests that were attracting the snakes to our porch, I'm sure, and heaven only knows how many birds the snakes got in the middle of the night. My husband has killed four snakes in the past two weeks... our friend Cindy has killed five (hers were copperheads, our were chicken snakes). In my opinion, any snake is a bad thing, and not to be spared. I'd rather have field mice running around the property than the blasted snakes.

Life should be getting easier, not harder. Life isn't easy out here in the hills. Too many insects and critters, too many predators, way too much wildlife, not enough really good restaurants and bookstores, not one good shoe store (although there's no place to wear pretty shoes out here anyway unless you stay in the house), and no museums to speak of.  And that's about what I've been doing. Staying in the house, mostly. I'm reading a lot, and keeping my very bad attitude all to myself.

And today was Father's Day. I looked at old photos of my dad. And I tried to hear his voice in my mind. That's getting harder and harder as the years go by. Maybe daddy doesn't like the Hill Country either.

Losing it...

...and losing it big time. I hate it here, hate it here, hate it here. And by 'here' I mean this godforsaken country bubble that we've called home since 2009. What in the blessed world possessed us to buy a house so far out of the city limits. Must have been a blatant stroke of insanity.  And it was me who fell in love with this house, my husband who fell in love with the property... and both of us should have had our heads examined before signing on the dotted line.

Just the other night I was sitting in my chair in the breakfast room, browsing on Google and looking for a literary agent. (I've learned that without an agent, one's chances of publishing a book are zero to zilch.)  As I was scrolling down the computer screen, I felt my blouse moving... odd... so I just flicked at my blouse without even looking down... and not a split second later, I thought I had better look to see if anything was there... and right on the cushion of my chair was a scorpion. And not a little one.

I jumped up, Sweet Pea jumped up (the cat was on the chair opposite me), and my husband came running into the breakfast room (he had been watching a ball game in the TV room). Gary killed the scorpion, Sweet Pea ran out of the room, and I cursed everything about the insect world in this entire state.

Along with that first scorpion, we've been having snakes on the porch who are attracted to the nests of the barn swallows. Gary has killed three snakes in about a week's time, and heaven only knows how many baby birds have been eaten by other snakes after dark because I keep sweeping up broken nests every morning.  And every day, I curse the wildlife that surrounds us out here.

Tonight was a repeat of the other night.... Gary was watching TV and I was searching the Internet for literary agents who might represent my 357-page story about Savannah.  And then I noticed that Sweet Pea was sitting on the floor and just staring at me... at my slacks... and his eyes kept moving up and up... and I looked down and there was another damn scorpion crawling from my slacks to my blouse.

I screamed for Gary and tried to hold the blouse away from my body... the scorpion tensed up and put his blasted tail up... but he stayed where he was and my husband flicked him off of my blouse and he landed on the floor, and then I used my shoe to smash the blasted thing because my husband wasn't wearing shoes.

Why is it that every blasted damn snake and scorpion and wasp is clearly in my sight or right near me every blasted time?  Honestly, am I wearing a welcome sign for all of the godforsaken insects and reptiles in the Hill Country?

After the scorpion thing tonight, I just lost it... shaking and crying and totally out of control... telling my husband that I hate it here, just hate it out here and I miss living in Clear Lake, miss the house that we had and the subdivision it was in... I just miss everything that we had and I could move away from this godforsaken property and never look back.

It's just always something out here.... if the baby goats aren't being slaughtered by the farmer across the road, then fireworks are going off on the other stupid neighbor's property.... snakes killing baby birds and scorpions in the house and tarantulas in the garage. I have had it. Just had it. I told my husband what I've told the ladies at the tea parties... that if anything ever happened to him, I'd be calling a realtor before calling an undertaker. Without a doubt, I'd be moving out of this house, giving the keys to a realtor and telling them to just sell it for whatever they can get for it.

After I stopped crying and shaking, I got out the vacuum cleaner and went over the rug in the breakfast room. My husband looked all over the floor and underneath all the furniture in that room. Even Gary said "What are the chances of that happening twice in just a few days?" (Well, welcome to my world.)  I have taken my lap-top out of the breakfast room. No more sitting in my quiet little corner for typing or reading. The lap-top is on the kitchen counter now and I'm standing up as I type this. I guess my next choice for a long typing session will be the dining room table or the table in the living room.

I told my husband that I've had it with living out here. I'm tired of being scared, tired of finding creatures in the house and in the garage, and I'm just tired of this blasted country bubble. I don't care how beautiful the property is, I don't care how much I love this big old house. I am just tired of it all and I could move out tomorrow if given the chance.

Stupid country bubble...

If anyone ever tells you "Let's go buy some acreage and live out in the country," run the other way. And keep running until you reach a city that has a plethora of good restaurants, a bunch of independently-owned bookshops, and department stores that sell city-clothes and high heels.

Within the last hour, my husband has killed a snake on the porch and a scorpion in the breakfast room.  The snake was most likely on its way up to one of the birds' nest that are scattered around the columns of the porch. Our handyman has been making his way around the porch this week and cleaning the siding and the columns, he has also been scraping off the nests of the barn swallows. Not because we don't like the birds--- what we don't like are the snakes that the nests attract. There have been three snakes on the porch in the last two weeks, one of which was hanging over the railing above the back door and as I opened up the door, the dangling snake missed falling on me by just inches as it dropped onto the porch.

Tonight as I sat in my chair at the breakfast room table, browsing through Pinterest boards, I felt something on my blouse and thinking it was just a hair or something, I flicked it away. Then I looked at the chair cushion and there was the scorpion, a bit dazed and not yet lifting his tail to attack. I got out of that chair right quick and screamed for my husband. He got the scorpion onto the floor and then smashed him with his shoe.

Jeez... enough already. Snakes and scorpions and stupid new neighbors who are shooting off fireworks every chance they get.  Every time I get comfortable out here in these godforsaken hills, something happens to make me hate everything all over again.

Too many nests...

...so the barn swallows have just got to move on.  Because of all the barn swallow nests, snakes are coming up on the porch--- they're attracted to the eggs, the baby birds, and the adult birds. Wonderful. Just what we need.

Last night just before I went to take Savannah outside for the last time, I looked outside at the porch (checking for snakes because of the one that was hanging above the back door a few days ago)... and there was a long snake making his way up the porch column and right into one of the empty nests along the ledge. I repeat: wonderful.

I called my husband and told him of the latest intruder and he went to the garage and got the long rake and the hoe... and used the rake to pull that nest down and the hoe to kill the snake. Then, just to make sure the snake was really dead, he got the hedge-clippers and cut off its head. Jeez... I'm cringing as I type this blasted thing. It's a wonder I can fall asleep at night, honestly.

So, now the plan is to have our handyman scrape off all of the nests after all the babies are flying and the bird families have gone elsewhere (when it gets too hot here). We'll have to see what we can put up around the porch to keep those birds away next Spring. I know that birds don't like to see owls where they build nests, but there's a lot of columns around this porch... do we need to perch a fake owl on top of each column?

Give me a blessed break. It's going to be a long Summer.

Got spiders?

Not only do we have spiders, we have tarantulas. Damn. Give me a blessed country break.

In the past six days, I have killed two huge black fuzzy tarantulas that were crawling across the garage floor. I sprayed them with wasp spray, which sent them scurrying towards the overhead garage door, and when they got close to that door, I opened it up, swept their furry bodies outside, then slammed the door shut, went out the side door of the garage with the broom, and finally swept the dying tarantula off into the grass.  Such a ridiculous process, but if those damn things are stupid enough to get inside my garage, then I'm sorry but I'm not going to have much mercy on their souls.

All week long, I've been wondering how many tarantulas could be in that garage that I haven't yet seen, and could they find their way into my car?  Last thing I need as I'm driving down the highway is to see a tarantula crawling along the dashboard of my car.

We've had so much rain here since mid-May that roads in the center of our town have either flooded or, in one instance, washed away, concrete and all. Heaven only knows how long it will take the town's Powers That Be to get that repaired. We're having a new library built in town and honestly, the Greeks built the Acropolis in less time than it's taking the construction crew to complete this library.

The rains have caused damage to our roof, so we've had roofing companies out here for estimates. One roofer took over an hour to draw diagrams and measure this three-story house of ours, and another roofer went up to the second floor and took less than five minutes to come up with a proposal. Now how is that possible?

Our trip to Canada is now a distant memory. It rained every day while we were gone, and it's been raining nearly every day since we got home.  Welcome back to the country...

Encounters of the slithering kind...

Last night was a double-whammy with the creatures that are out here on our property. And why is it that I am the one who always finds them?

I had put Mickey into the garage last night at dinner time... he goes in there willingly, eats his Fancy Feast on his little table, and then goes through the trap-door into the coop and watches the world going by as he relaxes in the fenced-in coop.

Well... on the way into the garage with his Fancy Feast favorite-flavor-of-the-moment, there was a huge tarantula crawling on the cement floor, headed straight for Mickey's side of the garage. And there was Mickey, just sitting there watching it crawling along the garage floor.  I don't think tarantulas bite, but still, I didn't want that blasted thing near my cat. I got out a can of wasp spray and aimed it at that giant furry spider and it turned itself around and started walking towards one of the overhead doors. I opened up the door a bit, gave the spider another blast of the wasp spray, and sent it out into the driveway and then I shut the door tight. So there. I surprised myself that I handled it without calling my husband. The spider went off and died somewhere, Mickey was fine except I took away his entertainment for the night, and I went back into the house without saying too many bad words about country living.

I must be used to the tarantulas by now because even though it took me by surprise when I saw it in there, I didn't freak out or scream. I just stood there for a second and said out loud "Are you kidding me?"  (The tarantula had no response.)

A couple of hours later, I was going out the back door with Savannah to let her pee in the grass before I went upstairs for the night. I was holding the screen door open, waiting for Savannah to get herself out of the door... she was stretching and taking her time getting across the kitchen.... and I thank my lucky stars for that big stretch of hers because had she been ready to walk out of that door, a chicken snake would have dropped down on my shoulders. (No, that is not a typo.)

Apparently, a brown chicken snake was perched up on the ledge over our back door... he must have been on his way to get to one of the barn swallow nests that are all over our porch. When I opened the door, he probably wasn't quite on the ledge, and the screen door caught him and sent him tumbling down onto the porch--- and thankfully not onto my head or shoulders because I was waiting just inside the door for Savannah to 'catch up' with me.

As the snake dropped down, my eyes caught the movement and I immediately knew what it was and I screamed out loud, which made Savannah back up into the kitchen, the back door slammed because I let go of it, and thankfully the snake landed outside on the porch and not inside on the kitchen floor. My husband heard me scream and he came running downstairs but by that time the snake was gone. Gary went outside on the porch and looked over the back door... and he figured out that the snake had been balancing half of his body on the ledge, half of him was dangling down on the screen door, and I just happened to open the door at the wrong moment.

Story of my life with the godforsaken wildlife out here.... I'm always at the wrong place at the wrong time and I see everything that's out there after dark. About the only thing I haven't seen yet is a bobcat, but I'm sure that will come along as well.

My husband said the solution to the snake-over-the-door problem is a round piece of wood to sit along the flat ledge that's above that back door. Hopefully, a snake won't be able to perch up there on a round surface.

My own solution is that we have to get rid of all these barn swallow nests, no matter how much we love watching the baby birds. We'll leave them up there for now because the birds are still laying eggs and raising their babies, but once they leave when the summer heat begins, I'm going to have our illustrious handyman scrape off all those nests, clean up the tops of the porch columns, and that's it... no more being a B&B for the barn swallows. Just as having a coop filled with chickens will attract snakes, these bird nests are also bringing the snakes too close to the house.

It's a wonder I was able to sleep last night without dreaming of snakes falling down on top of me. Life in the country... ain't all what it's cracked up to be.

Back in this big old house...

...after taking a little trip to see Niagara Falls and The Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. Our dog Savannah had her first experience at 'puppy camp' -- which is what we were calling the deluxe boarding facility that kept her for us.  The timing for this trip wasn't exactly the best for Savannah, but arrangements had been made and we followed thru with plans that had been finalized before Savannah's 12 days of being a lost dog.

While we were gone, our area in the hills here had nearly 8 inches of rain. We came home to high grass, a filled pond, and flowers blooming with bright colors instead of just the little green leaves that were poking out of the dirt when we left.

In the stack of mail was the bill from the air-conditioning guy.... nearly $500 for repairs on the outside unit because a very long snake found its way into the motor and decided to curl itself around the fan. The snake got as much of a surprise when the unit kicked on as I did when I opened that envelope and looked at the charges. Life in the country... it doesn't come cheap.

Because of all the rain, the humidity levels here have been ridiculous since we got home. So much for the good-hair days of the hills around Niagara Falls. The weather in Canada was unpredictable at best... in a 24-hr period, we had rain, a bit of sleet, and teeny snow flurries. Not exactly perfect weather for viewing the Falls, so we went back at the end of our trip when the weather had turned sunny and warm and Spring-like.

We seem to have a resident skunk here who has made his home underneath our gazebo. Before we left on our trip, I saw that skunk (actually quite beautiful) as he sashayed around the blooming iris plants. I thought that he was just passing through, smelling the flowers, and would soon be on his way. The first night we got home, I saw the skunk again, same place in the yard, just taking his time and picking up the pecans that dropped from the trees before Christmas. (There are a million pecans out there, the very small native Texas variety... way too small to bother shelling, so I leave them out there for the birds and squirrels, and it seems, the occasional skunk.)

The barn swallows were busy when we were gone... new babies have already left the nests, and old nests are again being renovated by adult birds. The nest that's over the side door of the garage has three little baby birds in it now... a nest that was able to be built there because my husband nailed up a little piece of wood for the two barn swallows that were desperately trying to affix a nest to that particular spot.

As always, no matter how much we enjoy a trip, coming home is the best part. Savannah was very happy to see us and now she is settling into a regular routine in her own home, rather than the routine at the 'camp.'  One of our friends has already warned us that fireworks will be sold for the Memorial Day weekend coming up.... fireworks... exactly what caused the sonic boom that sent Savannah running for parts unknown on April 27th.  We will have to be very vigilant this weekend. One lost-dog fiasco was enough for one life-time.

A note from me...

To those of you wondering if Savannah's blog is about a real puppy... indeed it is.  I could not have made this story up if I tried.  If I had the technical ability to post a photo of Savannah and our cats here on this Blog page, I would do so, but my forte is writing, not picture-taking, and certainly not computers. Savannah's picture, however, is posted on my Pinterest page-- it's the cover photo on my board titled "Get Real... Get a Dog!" -- my Pinterest page is listed under my first name.  Savannah also has a Facebook page--- Savannah Grace, with pictures posted there from her 'Lost Dog' posters.

I started Savannah's blog (A Puppy Named Savannah) on the day we brought her home on September 12th, 2015.  Besides the fact that I tend to write everything down (and have for decades) I just had the feeling that this puppy would have a story to tell. I didn't know at the time how much of that story would be interesting enough to write about, but when I start something, I tend to see it through.

What originally began as a blog about raising a puppy turned into a stream of emotion-filled essays on how Savannah came into our life, disrupted and changed our life, and ultimately became the core of our life, most especially during the 12 days when she was lost.  We don't know where she was during those days and we will probably never find out.                                                                        

I know one thing... I will always remember the look on Savannah's face that Mother's Day morning when we found her sitting by our back door waiting for us to come home. Our puppy was as overwhelmed and as exhausted as we were after those awful days, and all she wanted was to be back with her family. Savannah seems to be fine and healthy after her adventure, although she has no interest in walking along our road now. When she goes down the porch steps, she heads straight for the backyard and does her 'business' quickly and then wants to come back into the house. I'm sure she will get her confidence back as the weeks go by.

To both dog-lovers and cat-people.... your pets depend on you for everything: for their shelter, their food, their safety, their health.  They give us so much during the years that we have them, and yes, they can be both frustrating and rewarding, and along with the love they give, responsibility and effort and just plain work come along with those little (and big) furry packages.  In our search for Savannah during the days she was lost, we saw so many unwanted and neglected dogs and cats. Please spay/neuter your house-pets, and please please please go to your local animal shelters if you're willing to accept the love and responsibility of a four-legged furry child. No matter how many years your cat or dog may live, they will never mature beyond the psychological capability of a two- or three-year-old child, and understanding that is so important in the way you care for them.

To anyone who has cats who come running to you when their names are called, and to everyone who is loved unconditionally by a dog, I dare you to find a stronger bond with another living breathing creature on this planet.

After the last excruciating twelve days, I am all word-ed out, written-out, and just flat-out emotionally exhausted. I do understand that many more news-worthy and earth-shattering events have been happening around the world during our 'lost dog' fiasco.  Savannah being lost was just a minuscule blip on the radar screen of the universe, but Savannah is our blip and that's why we put the rest of the world on hold these past couple of weeks.

 My blog statistics indicate that the number of readers on both Savannah's blog and my Sprinkles blog has increased dramatically in the last six months, and I truly thank all of you for reading.  I'll be back here typing after a little while, but for right now, this writer just needs a blessed break.

Back home!

Savannah went missing on April 27th.... and came home yesterday, May 8th (Mother's Day). In an ironic twist, the neighbors who originally set off the fireworks that sent Savannah racing down our hill are the same neighbors who saw Savannah racing up our hill yesterday afternoon... trailing her 20-foot leash behind her and still wearing her collar and ID tags.  My husband and I had been in town but were on our way home when we got the phone call from those neighbors and we rushed here to find Savannah on our porch, leaning up against the back door, dirty and exhausted, and overwhelmed by her adventure, I'm sure.

We have no idea where Savannah was for all of these days, but right now, she's home, she's safe, she doesn't seem to be hurt, and we're giving her some time to settle down before we take her to the vet for a look-see.

I have to say that if you're going to pick a country road to live on in the godforsaken woods, then pick a road with excellent neighbors. All of our friends here made Savannah's story their story, and for that we will always be grateful.

Still missing...

.... Our dog Savannah is still missing. We have more than 200 fliers posted all over our town and the surrounding four towns. Not one 'I found your dog!' phone call, except from a very nice man who thought Savannah might be the dog that's been hanging around a gas station near his home for over a month. When I told him Savannah has been lost since April 27th, he told me that the gas station dog couldn't be mine and he would look around for Savannah where he lived and worked.

Lost-dog fliers are everywhere. I guess we expected to be inundated with phone calls, but we have been disappointed with the lack of response.  No one has seen our dog... no one has found our dog.... we have been out looking for hours and hours, every day, every day.

I don't even have the heart to write here too much. I've been keeping up with my 'Sprinkles' blog and my 'A Puppy Named Savannah' blog.  That's where to look for more details, and more of Savannah's story.

Life in the country. If I didn't hate it before, I surely hate it now.

Life in the country...

....isn't what it's cracked up to be.

On April 27th, I was outside walking Savannah along the road and the new neighbors decided to set off cannon-esque fireworks in their field. The first one sounded like a sonic boom, and Savannah bolted, I fell forward onto the road and lost consciousness. When I woke up, Savannah's leash was not in my hand and the fireworks were still going off.

By the time I got my bloodied and bruised self to our porch, Savannah wasn't there, and wasn't anywhere in sight. Friends along the road came to our house and we searched for hours and we've been searching ever since. Fliers are up in not only our town but in three other towns nearby. My husband and I go out driving every day, every evening.... we're looking and calling her name and asking people if they've seen our dog. Friends along our road have been doing the same. The firework-neighbors haven't apologized, haven't helped, haven't even acknowledged what has happened because of their reckless, careless, thoughtless actions. Everyone out here in the country expects fireworks on July 4th and Christmas and New Year's Eve and we protect our pets accordingly. But at the end of April, on a warm and calm night, no one could have anticipated such noise along our road.

Today we had another country surprise... our air conditioning unit wasn't working properly so I called the company who services the system. The technician discovered a very long snake hanging out of the air conditioner. The front end of the snake was wrapped around the fan, the back end was hanging out of the unit. Needless to say, the snake was killed when the system turned itself on, and now we have to replace the fan and the motor. The technician says this is common out here in the hills. (Another thing no one tells you when you say you want to move to the country.)

I am heart-sick over the senseless loss of our dog. My bruises will heal with time, my heart will take longer. I cannot be forgiving towards those neighbors, and for that I'm sorry, but that's that.

Too much rain...

...and then some.  I think we've had more rain this week than all the rain that's fallen since we moved out here to the Hill Country. Not only are all the ponds filled to the brim, but there are new ponds all around lower grounds in the fields. I heard from people in town that most of the concrete bridges that span the local creeks were impassable during the worst of the rain storms.

Our property doesn't have any low spots, and our home is raised up on a slight hill on the property, so flooding wasn't an issue. (Thank goodness.) When we get pouring rain, every drop either soaks into the fields or goes down-hill towards the pond, which is about an acre in size.

Around the house and cottage and barn, all of the grass is soggy and just flat-out wet. Walking around the yard with just shoes on is senseless... you need boots. The fire ant mounds are all over the property, little ones and big ones, and sometimes flat ones that you can't see until the ants are crawling over your boots. Rule #1 for Texas should be to keep walking when you're on grass and don't stop till you're off the grass... once you stop walking, you're giving the fire ants time to attack. And 'attack' they will, with bites that will turn red and swollen and itch and hurt and leave you wondering how such a teeny insect can create such havoc.

The sun is shining today and it's beautiful and clear outside. I can't help but think of all the people whose homes were flooded, and whose cars were immersed in water. Their lives have been turned upside-down by the recent rain and my heart just goes out to them.

Finally, wildlife that I can live with...

...bunnies!

For the past week now, there's been a bunny by the guest cottage. He sits there early in the morning and he's probably munching on the sweet clover that grows by there. I've seen the little brown rabbit when I go around the courtyard to open up the gate of the coop so Mickey can go in and out of the coop as well as going in and out of the garage.

When the rabbit sees me, he quickly runs underneath the cottage, and if there's one bunny under there, then surely he's with the rest of his bunny family.  I've seen a lot of animals go underneath that cottage, everything from mice and snakes to armadillos and foxes. The bunny is the least of my concerns, and if there's a family of rabbits under the cottage, then I don't think all those other critters are under there as well.

The barn swallows are back, as always, and there seems to be a lot more birds than in previous years. All of them have renovated the existing nests a bit, making them either taller or wider or both, and the birds who have been here before sit there at the edge of the nests and just watch us going back and forth on the porch. Sweet little birds, all of them, even though they do make somewhat of a mess along the edge of that porch.

A pair of barn swallows had chosen one of the ledges underneath the breezeway connecting the house to the garage... they were trying so hard to build a nest there, but all the mud and dirt was just falling onto the courtyard because the ledge wasn't wide enough to hold the base of the nest. Well, my husband noticed their efforts, and he got a piece of board and used two nails to secure that small piece to the very thin ledge the barn swallows had picked out. Within half an hour, the two barn swallows were inspecting that new board and flying back and forth with bits of dirt and mud to construct their new home.  My husband put that scrap piece of board up yesterday and ever since, those two little birds have been building.... my guess is that within a few days, their nest will be complete and the female will be sitting on some tiny eggs. I told my husband that he earned some really good birdie-karma this week.

Mickey is still walking around the yard and looking for Gatsby, our other outside cat who had to be 'put down' last week.  I didn't realize how much I'd be missing Gatsby till he was gone... that cat followed me all over the yard, all around the porch, and more often than not, I'd be tripping over Gatsby because he was always walking so close to me. Now that he's gone, the porch seems empty, and I know Mickey is missing him outside, and even Sweet Pea sits by the screen door and looks on the porch for him. Gatsby was such a part of the family even though he spent most of his life with us outside on the porch or inside the garage.  I miss calling his name out there in the yard, and it never failed to surprise people when I'd call his name and he'd come running across the porch like a dog would. Gatsby... our wise gentleman cat.... he is definitely missed.

Compost 2.0

Well. About that compost pile. We must have started it on top of an enormous fire-ant mound. Every time I went out there to bury more food scraps in that pile, I saw more and more ants. That pile was just teeming with them, zillions of very unhappy ants. Unhappy because I raked apart their little world every day before dumping the latest batch of scraps into the middle of it. When I went out there today, I could barely get near the pile. I could see all the moving scurrying ants as soon as I got near that corner of the yard.

Oh well. I promised friend Cindy that I wouldn't spray ant-killer on that pile, but I just had to do it. Today's discovery was a fire-ant universe complete with tunnels and clutches of teeny tiny white ant eggs, which only means more and more millions of ants.  Out came the spray and the ant powder. Hopefully as I type this, the ants in that particular part of the yard are history. But so is that compost.

 I called Cindy, and immediately told her about my slaughter of the ants... starting the conversation with "Forgive me for I have sinned....."    I asked her about getting a big plastic container of some sort, with a tight-fitting lid. Couldn't I keep that way out on the back deck, put the kitchen scraps into that with a little water now and then, and I could even roll it around the deck a bit to keep it mixed up. Wouldn't that mixture turn itself into the "black gold" that Cindy has been wanting to achieve for the garden?

So that's the plan now.... I will look in Walmart for a plastic container with a tight-fitting lid.... big enough to keep a good amount of compost in it, but light enough for me to roll around the porch.

Easter Weekend

Not so sunny and bright on this Easter Sunday morning here in the hills. We had a misty rain this morning which prompted Gatsby and Mickey to go back into the garage not long after I let them outside. Our street-wise outside cat Gatsby has taken to being ensconced in that garage at the tiniest change in the weather.  Not a surprise, since a corner of the garage is filled with a carpeted cat-tower and comfy baskets covered with a blanket-tent to keep away the chill. (No, my cats are not spoiled.)

We've had an outbreak of black flies up here this past week, so I guess Spring is officially here. These teeny-tiny flies are like gnats and they hover in droves all over the grass, the road, the yard.... no getting away from them because you can hardly see them at all until you feel them on your face or arms. I was never bothered by the flies before, but now with Savannah, I'm walking her either on the property or up and down the road, so there's no escaping those blasted flies. I know that every time we come in the back door, we're bringing one or two flies with us, but inside cat Sweet Pea manages to catch them quickly and then he eats them. (Yuck.)

The barn swallows are back... renovating the nests from last season and perching themselves on the edges of the nest to watch the goings-on around the porch. The baby birds who grew up here are still coming back, and not only do they watch me as I go up and down the porch steps, but they seem to be comfortable with Savannah as well. They watch her, she watches them... everyone's happy.

The neighbor's goats across the road have gotten out of the fence twice so far this month, even though the neighbor repaired that fence during the winter. Looks like the goats just dug out a spot in the dirt underneath the repaired part of the fence, and they belly-crawl through the dirt and emerge near the road to discover if the grass is indeed greener on the other side. Maybe those goats really know that their destiny over there is to end up in a roasting pot, poor things.

Owls in The Night

I've been seeing a lot of the great outdoors these past few nights, courtesy of Savannah, who insists on going outside after midnight on most nights. If I sleep through her barked requests to visit the grass, I wake up to find a puddle on the kitchen floor, so being outside along the driveway grass really isn't an option right now.

Last night as I opened up the back door, there was a huge something on the concrete driveway near the light fixture. When that something swiveled his head towards the right to look at me, I quickly realized what it was--- a very large owl. He must have caught either a small mouse or snake in the grass and was ready to fly away with his midnight snack when I startled that huge bird. So I may have saved the life of a garden snake or a field mouse because when the owl flew up and away, his talons were empty.

That owl taking flight scared the heck out of Savannah, who doesn't need much to be scared. She watched the owl flying into the sky and then decided she didn't need to go outside after all. I had gone to the trouble of putting on my coat and boots, so I wasn't giving up that easily and I pulled her down the steps and out into the driveway. Well, being true to her puppy self, Savannah wasn't giving in that easily. She walked up and down the road with me but didn't do anything so I brought her back inside. I kept my coat on and waited a few minutes and then took her outside again. Thank goodness for a puppy-memory like a sieve... Savannah went out there and did what she needed to do and I was back inside the house in just a few minutes.

I've heard plenty of owls since we moved out here, but last night's owl was the only one I've actually seen on our property. I know there are more owls out there, most likely sitting up in the trees and watching me walk up and down the driveway with this puppy who very rarely sleeps through an entire night.

A new set of wheels...

...or actually, just one single wheel. My friend C, who has been helping in the garden, insisted that we needed a wheelbarrow. "How do you bring things from one end of the yard to the other?" she wanted to know. When I told her that we just carry them, she smiled and told me that she would find me the perfect wheelbarrow.

And she did... not exactly the perfect color (light brown) but she told me that they didn't make this particular model in either hot pink, apple red, or purple. I told her they would sell more wheelbarrows to women if they offered more (and prettier) color choices.

Be that as it may, we now have a brown wheelbarrow. C has filled it up with pulled weeds and I have wheeled it across the yard to the compost pile and dumped the contents without so much as breaking a nail. And rather than five or six trips back and forth with buckets of weeds, it took just one trip with the wheelbarrow.

The flowerbeds are shaping up nicely. Morning Glory seeds have been planted by the walkway, azaleas have been moved to a not-so-scorching flowerbed that's more protected from the afternoon sun, roses have been pruned, weeds have been relocated to the compost pile, and ant hills have been sprinkled with white powder.

New mulch has been spread in the smaller flowerbeds that have been completed... and it took our cat Gatsby about two hours to discover the sweet-smelling mulch and decide it was the perfect spot to use as a litter box.

Compost + Rain

My newly-established compost pile has been rained on since last night... a good soaking rain that has probably turned the vegetable peelings and fruit rinds and coffee grounds and tea bags into drippings that have seeped into the weeds that were pulled up out of the flowerbeds. Friend C tells me that the old weeds along with the newer fruit and veggie bits will be like 'gold for the garden' once that compost pile gets to breaking itself down into minerals and nutrients and all-things-good for the flowerbeds.

I will take her word for that, being that she's been gardening in these Hills for decades now, and I'm only a novice at all of this. I've seen C put her hands into that dirt without wearing gloves and I just cringe at that... she dug up a long earthworm and was so pleased with her discovery... you would have thought she had found the Hope Diamond in that dirt.  I saw that worm and closed my eyes, turned my back, and started walking backwards towards the porch.

"It's only a worm," she told me.
"One worm is all I need to get me back in the house," said I.

My husband was so shocked that I was out in the backyard wearing gardening gloves that he went into the house to get the camera and actually took a photo of C and I, both wearing gloves....... C was pulling out the weeds and I was putting them into a bucket and bringing them to the compost pile. C is definitely the gardener, I am the mere apprentice. She laughs at my weed-pulling skills, which are close to non-existent. C can work out in that yard for three or four hours straight.... I get bored with it after just half an hour. All that dirt... and the worms underneath... and the ants.... not exactly my cup of tea.

About three years ago, however, I cleaned up the flowerbeds and put down new mulch.... I planted some azaleas and a cute little green shrub, and a beautiful yellow tree.... and I was quite proud of my accomplishment. However... the azaleas died, the little green shrub bloomed with just two flowers, and the yellow tree shriveled up when the temperature got over 100 degrees that summer. When I saw all of my work get blasted and burnt by the summer heat, I threw in the shovel and quit.

C told me I had the azaleas in the wrong place.... the mulch might not have been the right mixture for the soil, the yellow tree probably needed some shade instead of full afternoon sun... but she did like my placement of the garden gnomes and the little ceramic ducks. She also told me that I didn't buy any of the correct plants and flowers.... "You need low-maintenance, drought-resistant plants that will come up year after year in those flowerbeds!"

So now... C is in charge of the gardening. She told me to get myself to Lowe's last weekend because they had good mulch on sale, so we got 5 bags of that... and would have bought more but that's all we could fit into the trunk.  I'm saving every fruit/veggie thing for the compost pile, and raking it all underneath the weeds so every raccoon in the Hills here doesn't feast out there after midnight. As I said, I'm just the apprentice out there in my garden. And with any luck, she may decide not to fire me.

Compost happens...

Well. This city girl now has a compost pile in her backyard. Will wonders never cease?

My friend C is helping us get our garden in shape... she began by pulling up weeds (which are never-ending out here) and she will soon be filling the flowerbeds with drought-resistant plants and flowers, giving me an education in annuals and perennials and everything else inbetween.

Lesson Number One was the compost pile. All those weeds we're pulling up--- C says they're gold, and shouldn't be tossed into a Hefty bag and then sent to the local land-fill. "Put them into a compost pile, along with fruit and vegetable scraps and tea bags and coffee grounds... after a good while, you'll have the richest fertilizer to pack around your garden...."

Well. I can certainly pile the weeds up... and saving bits and pieces of fruits and vegetables is easy enough... and used tea bags, and coffee grounds... eggshells and the like.  C found the perfect spot out behind the barn for the compost pile... there was already a big indentation in the ground there, and we've filled it up with all the weeds she pulled over the weekend.

I now have a covered canister on my kitchen counter, a very convenient receptacle to hold those food scraps. When it's filled, out to the compost pile I go, armed with a rake so I can just make a little hole in the weeds and dump in the scraps, then cover them up with the weeds--- all of that so night-time animals don't have a feast of fruit and veggie bits out behind the barn under a moonlit sky.

Does having a compost pile make me a country girl now?  I don't think so.  I may be saving food scraps and eggshells and orange rinds, but when I go out there to bury them in the compost pile, my nails are polished and I'm wearing a bracelet or two and dangling earrings... which I hope I don't lose in that compost pile, by the way.

Spring... is springing up....

We had a slight cold blast a few nights ago but since then the Spring gods have decided that winter had been here long enough. Bunches of bluebonnets are sprouting up all over the fields, and some are even blooming already down at the corner of our property. There are always some early-birds among the bluebonnets every year who insist on popping up weeks before all the others.

Speaking of birds... the baby birds (now adults) are now back in the nests on the porch. They've been renovating them a bit, making them wider and larger, and some are so deep that I can hear the birds climbing up to the edge before they sit on the rim and look around the porch before flying off into the fields. The nests of those barn swallows aren't the prettiest decorations for the porch, but the birds seem happy there, and they're safe from the winds and the weather because the nests are tucked up along the porch columns and protected by the roof. Only one of the ten nests has fallen down to the porch, and it looked like it wasn't constructed very well in the first place. It's amazing to me how those tiny birds can build those structures... dirt and mud and water and they all look like little brown igloos turned upside-down.

I haven't seen any skunks or raccoons lately, not even an armadillo or a fox... makes me wonder if they've gone elsewhere now because Savannah's scent must be all over the yard and the porch, and I don't think those critters want to mess around with a dog of Savannah's size.

One of the ladies who come for tea every week was telling us that she was able to "lease a bull" in order to "service" her cows.  I had no idea that such a thing was even possible. The bull was allowed to roam on her property for a week, with full access to all of her cows. She's hoping that the result will be a new herd of calves before too long. When we asked her if it was difficult for the bull's owner to round him up and get him back into the trailer to be brought home, she said that the bull seemed to be happy to leave... "He was very tired," she told us.

We have been here in the Hills for nearly seven years now... and life in the country is still a lesson every day.

About that stray cat....

....I spoke too soon.

On the very afternoon of the morning when I typed that we hadn't seen the gray/white stray cat for such a long time, he came back. Not only back on the property, but all the way up on our porch. Looking for food, no doubt, but he didn't get anything. Both Mickey and Gatsby chased him off the porch, which had all three of the cats out there screeching.  The gray/white cat ran off towards the barn, Gatsby stood guard by the steps of the back deck, and Mickey went into the garage to hide under his little cat-tent.

Inside the house, Sweet Pea ran into the kitchen to look out the screen door to see what the commotion was about, and Savannah ran to the door of the TV room, barking for all she was worth, which I'm hoping scared the gray cat away. For good this time.

It never ends out here with animals... always something out there which either doesn't belong or isn't needed on the property.

They're back...

The barn swallows have returned to their nests on our porch, and I'm sure these are the baby birds who fledged last year because they sit on the edge of the nest and watch me coming and going on the porch. And is it possible that these birds are going on their third season with us? I have no idea how long these birds live, but this isn't the first time that we're had swallows in that nest who seem very comfortable with us and our routine.

Sweet Pea has resumed his favorite spot by the screen door of the TV room. From that vantage point, he can see three nests and he watches them all very closely. The birds aren't bothered by our cats either... they've  probably learned that Sweet Pea is inside all the time, Gatsby couldn't be bothered with chasing something he's not likely to catch, and Mickey is too busy catching lizards and flies.

I'm happy to say that the latest stray cat (the gray/white) hasn't been here for weeks now. So I guess it's true--- if you don't feed a stray, they will go elsewhere. I kept my promise and didn't feed that cat, nor did I even feel badly about it. After the problems with the orange/white cat we had out there for so long, I'm cured of the stray-cat syndrome. The rule now is Do Not Feed a Stray Cat Unless You Want To Keep It.  We have three cats here... more than enough.

We went into Houston one night this past week (to see Barry Manilow's last concert in our city) and we didn't get home till after midnight... just in time to see about eight or ten deer in the pasture around our pond. My husband has a deer feeder out there in the field, and the deer probably ate their fill and then walked to the pond for a drink. There were so many deer by the pond that night, all babies and females, and as our headlights lit up the grass around the pond, the deer just stood there and watched our car going by.

As we were driving by the deer, my husband looked at them and said "And that's why we live way out here."  I will tell him to remind me of that the next time we see a snake instead of a deer.

The stars have been spectacular lately, and I have Savannah to thank for that. In all the years we've lived here, I never made it a point to go outside at night to look at the sky. All that changed when we got Savannah, and her last walk for the night gives me the perfect opportunity to have a look-see at the moon and the stars. The night sky out here does not disappoint.                                                

You just have to make sure to be aware of bats because you don't want them to get caught in your hair if they're flying too close. Just the thought of that makes me cringe. (Is that another reason we're living way out here?)

Not exactly Mickey Mouse...

There's always something...

I was going up the stairs this morning with a stack of clean laundry and as I got near to the top of the stairs and the second floor hallway, I smelled something. Not a good something, but a foul-smelling odor that you just couldn't ignore. I asked my husband if he smelled anything weird and he said no... but he was doing work at his computer and he tends to focus on just what's on the screen.

I walked around the rooms on the second floor and when I got to the last room (my husband's office) the smell was intense. How could he not have smelled that? Walking around the room like Nancy Drew, I knew for sure that the smell was coming from one of the ceiling vents for the heating and air-conditioning. And directly below that vent, there were brown spots on the carpeting. I had just vacuumed the second floor yesterday, and I didn't see any spots at all.

As I started to clean the carpet under the vent, the smell of the cleaner mixed with the odor of whatever made those spots really got to stinking quite badly, and finally, my husband asked me what on earth made that awful odor.  I pointed up towards the vent, and my husband noticed that the vent itself was soiled with lots of brown spots.

Off went the computer, out came the step-ladder and tool box, and my husband proceeded to unscrew the heating vent... and as soon as he got the vent loose from the ceiling, a dead mouse dropped down to the carpet. I didn't exactly scream, but I came close. I'm not afraid of mice, but I certainly don't want them inside the house, alive or dead. I got a trash bag to put the mouse in (my husband did that part) and then he took the vent outside for a good cleaning. Apparently, the mouse had been up there for quite some time.

Living out in the hills here and surrounded by fields and pastures and woods, there is just no way to keep critters away. You would think that we wouldn't have any mice at all, with one inside cat and two outside cats, but all a mouse needs is a teeny-tiny opening and they can come and go at will. And with a house that's over one hundred years old, I'm sure we don't have a shortage of teeny-tiny openings.

Every once in a while in the middle of the night, we will hear a scurrying sort of noise in one of the walls. We know it's a mouse but in a home this size, how does one go about finding where it is? Usually, the mouse will find its way back outside and off he goes into the pasture, probably to meet his fate with an owl or a hawk. I doubt very much that my well-fed cats even go looking for mice these days, as they're both on the shady side of their nine lives.

Well, the mouse that dropped from our ceiling vent this morning is now encased in a plastic grocery sack and will wait outside in the trash can till pick-up day on Tuesday. I guess I should be thankful that it was only a little mouse because the day a snake drops out of a ceiling vent, I'm out of here.

Country sounds...

If anyone tells you that living in the country will give you a quiet and peaceful life, don't believe them. They're not telling the truth.

As I type this, it is nearly 4:30 in the morning... Sunday morning. A train is going along the tracks in the next town and I can hear every blessed sound as the wheels move along those tracks. Then we have the engine's whistle, which used to sound very poignant years ago, but now has the decibel level of an air-horn. Three seconds after the train goes by, the coyotes start howling, which wakes up every dog in the hills here (including ours) and you can kiss the rest of your dreams goodbye.

I've been up and awake since two o'clock this morning. Since then, the train going by right this minute is the third train of the night, and I know it won't be the last. That train is miles away, but because all of the properties out here are so big, there's not much to buffer the sounds.

Our friends V & S were here this afternoon... they stopped by on their way back to Clear Lake. They had been further up in the Hill Country this morning and called me to see if we'd be home so they could say hello on their way back towards Houston. I was thrilled... we hadn't seen them since the night of our Christmas party. V & S had two of their friends with them, whom we had met before at a wedding and a baby shower, so it was an enjoyable hour for all of us that passed by all too quickly.

V asked me why I never drive into Clear Lake and Houston and without having to think about my answer, I told her that if I did that, I'd never want to come back here. V and the other two ladies looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. They said the house was so beautiful, the property so serene, and they would love to be able to get out of the City limits and live like this.

I explained to them that I didn't want to sound ungrateful, and I truly know how beautiful everything is up here, but I also know that one's mind can quickly turn to applesauce here because of a lack of really good bookstores, museums, and art galleries. And living on a big piece of property where days can go by without seeing anyone except whoever lives in your house isn't exactly a mind-expanding experience, either.

Added to the above, the cows on the neighbor's property across the road and on another neighbor's pastures behind us frequently fill the air with the saddest of sounds when their calves are taken away to market. The mama cows' cries are so pitiful as they search for their babies that sitting on our porch is downright painful and impossible. Then, when the goat-raising neighbor picks one of those goats for his Sunday dinner, there's no escape from the gut-wrenching cries as the young goat is captured, tied up, and then killed.

I watched V & S and M & G as they drove down our driveway this afternoon... headed towards Houston... they waved at us, we waved back... and I would have given everything to have gone with them.

I must change my attitude. I know that. But living out here is just flat-out hurting my heart. Not physically, but emotionally. And that's just as bad. I still love this big old house, but I wish it were somewhere else.

Noises in the night...

The coyotes have gone mad... every night, at least a dozen times after dark, we can hear them howling. Terrible sounds from both adult coyotes and their young ones. And they always sound so close, as if they're at the edge of our property or in the fields right across the road.

When the coyotes start howling, the dogs in the hills here also begin to bark, with our own Savannah being no exception. Her barking (roaring!) woke me up three times during the night, and with her final bark coming at five-thirty this morning, I just gave up and stayed up. I'm not one to take an afternoon nap, so I've been going and going ever since. Oh well. I got a lot done today.

Then there are the trains... which no longer have that soft and poignant whistle that drifts over and around the woods. Now the trains have a sound similar to that of an air-horn, only much louder. Are they kidding?  Who needs such a blast between the hours of midnight and five o'clock in the morning?  Our property is so far away from the railroad tracks, so I can only imagine how those sounds affect the people who live right near the train stations. Give us all a blessed break.

The stray gray...

We went for a walk this afternoon with Savannah... and on the way back to the house I saw that gray/white cat out in our pasture by the pond. The cat was sitting in the sunlight and looked quite comfy way out there. Didn't even move when he saw us, and my guess is that he was staying put because he saw Savannah.

I have not fed that stray cat at all. When he comes into the yard or near the porch, I take up the bowl of cat food that's out there for Gatsby and into the house it goes. After my experience with that orange stray cat, I don't want to be taking responsibility for any other strays that happen to be out there. As the neighbors said--- if you don't feed a stray, it will go away. Well, this gray cat went as far away as our pond, which is a good deal away from the porch, and I'm hoping that he's hanging around on one of the other properties when he's hungry.

We've seen a lot of deer around lately... four or five of them at a time, sometimes right on the road near our barn. When they see us, they easily jump over the fence around our pasture by the barn and off they run towards the woods. I'm surprised that Savannah hasn't barked at them when she sees them out there, but she seems content to just watch them quietly.

We found out from one of the neighbors that the peacock (Mr Carson) is now history. A coyote or a fox got him, and all that was left was a pile of feathers. He was such a beautiful bird, poor thing. The same people who owned Carson also had about 35 chickens, all of which are gone now also. Coyotes and raccoons and heaven only knows what else got to those chickens one by one until there were none.

The new neighbor across the road has gotten herself some chickens and guinea hens. We can hear the guinea hens during the day... they make such odd and insistent sounds whenever they see animals or people near their coop. D was so excited to get her chickens and guinea hens, and as far as I know, she hasn't "lost" one yet. When that starts happening, she will no doubt question her reasoning for getting chickens in the first place. I suggested to D that she not name the chickens.... naming them always makes it harder when they're killed in the coop or taken away.  Above all, one shouldn't name chickens after family members. I had the hardest time explaining to my 103-yr-old Aunt Dolly that the chicken carrying her name was taken away by a hawk and never seen again.

You have what in your barn?!

Give me a blessed country break.

Now that the holidays have come and gone, I have resumed our weekly tea here with the neighbor-ladies. We spent a nice afternoon last week talking about Christmas and New Year's and working on our first craft project (little crystal snowmen ornaments). And then we all got to talking about snakes.

I told the ladies about my episode with the little garden snake all curled up by the side door of our garage, and my successful attempt to move the snake with a well-aimed spritz from a can of wasp spray. Some of the ladies cringed at that one... after all, those little green garden snakes are harmless and besides, they eat the lizards. Well, pardon me, but I'd rather have an army of lizards out in the yard than one garden snake.

One of the ladies told us that she has had two 'chicken snakes' living in her barn for years now. Each snake gets bigger and longer as time goes on, and the barn stays completely free of field mice. One of her resident snakes is over six feet long now, which is huge for a chicken snake, but I guess if one has a constant and never-ending diet of mice, that sort of snake will continue to grow.

And how does this neighbor dispose of unwanted garden snakes in her flower beds? Not a problem... she just picks them up and relocates them. Picks them up? With one's fingers? Well of course. I repeat: give me a blessed country break.  K calmly told me that if I ever had a problem with a snake I should just call her and she'd take care of it. (Is her middle name Steve Irwin?)

As I was cleaning up after that day's tea party, I kept looking behind me and imagining a six-foot long chicken snake slithering out of the dining room. It took a good long while for me to get to sleep that night.