Penny Sanford Designs

Cooking with Ghosts

I felt them today. The ghosts of my mother, my grandmother, my great-grandmother, and my great-great grandmother. Women who have cooked for their families on this farm, established in 1837 by my great-great-great grandfather James C. Hamer.

Gordon and Unc had gone to town to run a few errands, and I was alone in the kitchen ...probably alone on the whole farm. 

I was cooking Southern fried chicken in Grandma's cast iron skillet and watching a pot of pink eye purple hull peas, also prepared the same way I had watched Grandma prepare it. A third very large stock pot held a bubbling cauldron of cherry tomatoes simmering their way to becoming Tomato Jam.

The washing machine was making churning sounds. The dryer was making tumbling sounds. The chicken was making sizzling sounds. The peas and tomato jam were making bubbling and gurgling sounds, respectively. The air conditioner and the refrigerator whirred in their harmonious tones.

Across the kitchen floor stretched three sleeping black and tan English Shepherds. I could not see the Westies because three of them were curled up under my chair as I sat and stirred the tomatoes and nudged the chicken. (I think Charlotte was sleeping on the dirty clothes waiting in line for their spin around the washer.)

Jenny B was curled up between my ankles, her cold nose snuffling my leg from time to time to let me know she was there and would appreciate a dropped piece of whatever food I was working with. Annie did that. I adore the subtle movement of the soft fur against my skin and the occasional cold nose kiss.

With all of that noisy silence...that rare slice of solitude, I could actually let my mind wander where it wanted.

First came awareness of the sounds. The churning, tumbling, sizzling, bubbling, gurgling and whirring sounds separated from their harmonious composition into calming individual sounds. The sounds and the smells began to trigger the memories.

Memories of watching Grandma sit on her high stool in her kitchen frying chicken as I stood as close as she would let me inch toward to the spitting cast iron skillet that held her fabulous Southern Fried Chicken. The same cast iron skillet that I was using today.

The melody of the sounds and smells my chicken was singing could have been from the same sheet music Grandma had used in her kitchen performance. One might only detect a few nuances of timing or emphasis if one could compare our Southern Fried Chicken performances in side by side recordings.

I could almost see her showing me how to find the joint as she taught me how to cut up a chicken. I must have been young because I don't remember her letting me use the knife to replicate her actions more than one time.

Mama used an electric skillet instead of a cast iron skillet, but I'm sure she joined the chorus of reminders, "check the chicken.....turn the chicken....better check the chicken....." that repeated in my head as I stirred the tomato jam and fed the hungry twin laundry lions.

My high school Home Economics teacher, Mrs. Henri Sue Kennard, entered my head as I added bleach to the sink of hot soapy water and as I washed up the dirty dishes as I cooked.  I learned so much from her, and I adored Mrs. Kennard! Her wash-as-you-cook discipline has followed me all of my life (so that one does not have a huge pile of dirty pots and pans to clean up after one has completed cooking).

But then the images in my mind switched back to Grandma's kitchen that had faced west. As I washed dishes for her when I was a child, the sunlight turned the soap suds into little exploding diamonds. I could see the view from the window above the sink and hear the mews of the perpetual litter of kittens on Grandma's back porch. I think I learned my love of washing dishes by hand because of Grandma's kitchen.

That deep bubbling pot of scarlet flesh from the cherry tomatoes resurrected memories of Mama canning vegetables and putting up preserves and making jelly.

The summer I read Ruth Sawyer's Daddles, a priceless story of a child's love of an abused dog, I was possessed to pick blackberries because the children of that book had gone blackberry picking with Daddles, the little beagle. Mama did can the blackberries we picked that year. My second dog was a beagle because of that book.

The gurgling tomato jam whispered pieces of stories I had been told about my great-grandmother, Alice Penelope Kelly, my namesake. She was a stellar example of Victorian Era home-making. Nothing ever went to waste, and considerable effort was expended in preserving ample stores of food for the branching family tree.

So there in my kitchen this afternoon, with only the dogs to share my breathing air, I felt the presence of these hard-working women, each a survivor of a unique set of life's challenges. I thought about the legacy each of them had left through food. I thought about the emotions conveyed through the generations via the language of their culinary preparations.

It was as if they were with me in that room today...in spirit...watching over my shoulder, reminding me to stir the tomato jam or the peas or turn the chicken. Mama was smiling with her beautiful smile at the empty and clean counters and my frequent trips to feed the Laundry Lions.

Grandma had a little tasting spoon out, blowing over the latest sample of the tomato jam. Mama Hamer was inspecting my re-organization of the cabinets and pantry and pursing her lips over the cabinets I have not yet reorganized. All the while, she kept a sly watch on what all the rest of us were doing...to be sure none of us were slacking!

Nannie Hightower Hamer, my great-great grandmother was not too vivid in today's visit. I was not told as many stories about her. I did sense a question about why I had her pink painted pie safe upstairs in the old farmhouse when it belonged in the kitchen. I may have to address how to use a naturally distressed original pink pie safe in my future white and yellow kitchen. *grin*

I found myself crying while stirring the tomato jam and nudging the sizzling chicken. These were not sad tears. They were tears of gratitude. They were tears of comfort. I was taking my place in the long line of women who loved their family through the language of food, and these ghosts approved.

The kitchen officially became MY kitchen this afternoon. The ghosts passed those rights to the kitchen to me during their visit this afternoon.

Gordon and Unc returned after the chicken was fried, after the peas were cooked tender and just before the tomato jam turned into a translucent rich scarlett red goo.

The dishes with which I had cooked were drying on towels on counters that had been wiped down with diluted bleech.

I had wrapped the home-made cookie ice cream sandwiches in wax paper to freeze and was in the process of re-filling the molds as Gordon and Unc walked into the kitchen.

When they returned, my fellas entered a house saturated in home cooking smells just as preceding generations of the men in my family had experience under this same roof.

I enjoyed cooking with the ghosts of my fore-mothers this afternoon. The exercise was purifying as if some bottled up emotions were given a chance to finally breathe and boil away into steam. I hope these ghosts will stay in my kitchen and will make their presence known often!

Doesn't Your Dentist Sell Tires in His Waiting Room?

Gordon's root canal was scheduled for 10 a.m. this morning.

However, at 10 a.m. this morning we were sitting in THIS waiting room.

This waiting room was cleaner than most medical waiting rooms I have been in. It smelled better, and Gordon could bring me an ice cold diet soda to sip on as I stitched! You can't do THAT in a doctor's waiting room (can you?).

So what happened?

We had not made it out of the county when a wreck on the highway just ahead of us dribbled debris on the highway that was impossible to miss. We had one blowout, right front tire, and one nail in the right back tire. Thankfully no one was hurt in that wreck that we just barely missed!

Poor Gordon tried and tried to get the bicycle-sized tire out from under the van. He called a friend to come help. One of the cops working the wreck finished and came to see how we were doing. HE could not figure out the secret combination for extracting that bicycle tire from under the van!

Have you ever tried getting one of those little emergency tires OUT in an emergency? I've NEVER had a vehicle yet where the bicycle tire could be removed without an expert...and when is an expert nearby in a real emergency? (The secret trick turned out to be easy as Gordon has now learned at the Expert tire place. I personally suspect the car companies come up with these difficult but simple ways to make average folks feel stupid! LOL)

We had to have a wrecker. Here is where things started getting funny-weird...or not. If your husband's expert driving had just saved the two of you from a blow out that MIGHT have caused the van to flip and roll off into a deep ditch, the rest of the day might become a little more light-hearted and funny to you also! *grin*

For starters, the blowout occurred just as I finished praying for God's protection on our 180 mile round trip to the dentist in Jackson. We always pray as we leave for any travel. Gordon and I believe that sometimes God allows something comparatively minor to happen to prevent us from being in "the wrong place at the wrong time" where something worse might happen to us.

So Gordon was both relieved that he was going to avoid having a root canal today, but he was also relieved that we were alive with nothing worse than a couple of destroyed tires. So we were in the odd position of thanking God for the blow out!  LOL 

Once before we were praying for God to give Gordon a Mac, as in Apple computer. In no time, God sent Mac, as in Mackie the Westie! Really, the dog's name was Mac which we morphed into Mackie.

I'm sure we have been far more blessed by Mackie our Special Forces West Highland  White Terrier than Gordon has been by the dull gray Apple laptop he later bought! *Grin*

But back to the blowout...So the County Sheriff's Deputy ended up being the one who came out to the farm the night that Mama died. When he determined that we were ok, and it was discussed that there was no way to prove that the debris came from the trailor that jack-knifed and caused the wreck just seconds ahead of us, our deputy said that he was to have been with Trent Lott today.

Now in case you don't know, Trent Lott, now retired, was in the U.S. Senate for a LONG time and was essentially the Senior Statesman from Mississippi. He still is considered that, I suppose, but he no longer holds public office.

Well, if Trent Lott was going to be in Winona or Montgomery County today, then of course, this deputy needed to go there and forget about our little blow out. Trent Lott's family comes from the Carroll County side of Duck Hill which is in Montgomery County, so we "claim him", if you know what I mean. (Do other parts of the country do a quick genealogy run down of who's family came from where, even if the person under discussion has never lived in your county? Or is that a Southern Thing?)

Back to today...Gordon and I were impressed that this deputy was to be one of the escorts for Trent Lott. There was some confusing conversation, but Gordon and I both thought we understood the deputy to say that he would tell Trent about our tire. HUH? We MUST have misunderstood, but since the deputy was needed to escort Trent Lott, we did not ask him to elaborate...he had important places to go!

Within just a few minutes, the wrecker arrived, and the wrecker man introduced himself as Trent Lott!

It seems there is a real person in Winona, Mississippi, named Trent Lott, and he is distantly related to THE Trent Lott on his grandmother's side. Trent has even talked to Trent about their shared name and shared genealogy. Where were the news cameras when THAT interesting bit of news was unfolding? It would be curious to see if there are many facial similarities.

Back to the wrecker ride to the Tire Company Waiting Room where I spent three happy hours stitching... This was one of those big wreckers that requires someone to have a man's upper body strength to climb up into the darned thing. I don't have the upper body strength of a man. *crooked grin*

Thankfully, this time, Gordon was there to push me from the rear to help me get up in this tall truck cab. The LAST time I rode in a big, tall wrecker was about ten years ago in Jackson.

My mother and I were in Jackson for a state convention of the Daughters of the American Revolution at The Hilton. Our van developed bronchitis or something, stopping in the middle of one of Jackson's busiest streets.  The wrecker service was "Big Bob's Wrecker Service" or something like that. I DO remember Big Bob because Big Bob had to push and shove two overly dressed, anything-BUT tiny women into his TALL wrecker cab...with his bare hands on our ample rumpuses!

I was embarassed to beyond words. Mama must have been near death from the shock. The only thing to make it worse was driving up to The Hilton and trying to climb down from this TALL wrecker cab, while attempting to appear lady-like in our dresses, hose and heels. Of course, the first people we saw as we UN-gracefully dismounted that vehicle were some of our DAR friends. I don't think anyone can say that Alice and Penny ever made too many quiet, demure entrances...to anything.

Back to today's wrecker ride with Trent Lott...I was nervous and rattled from the blowout, the embarassing rumpus push, etc., so I was chattering away like a magpie. I just HAD to tell our Trent Lott about my previous Big Bob experience, and that I was thankful that I had a husband to do the pushing and shoving today. 

Gordon was probably melting from embarassment at my prattle, and from the heat and from the exertion of helping me into that tall cab. Trent laughingly said that he has had to do his share of pushing and shoving to help ladies climb up into that tall wrecker cab.  I wondered to myself it this was some sort of male conspiracy to build wreckker cabs so tall just so that the fellas could get away with....well, you know.....

Now we are back home, thankful for a blowout, thankful for a good friend who stopped work to come see if he could help.

Thankfufl for Trent Lott and helpful deputies. Thankful for the two women in the tire waiting room with whom I could chatter about vegetables and sewing and wear off some of that post-blowout nervousness.

I'm thankful for that ice cold diet soda Gordon brought me in the tire waiting room. Thankful for cell phones with which Gordon called that good friend for help and with which we were able to call a root canal dentist to reschedule. I'm thankful that cell phone kept me in contact with Unc to keep him apprised of the situation, and I'm thankful for being able to talk to the Westies by cell phone while I waited and sewed. (What, don't you talk to your dog/cat by phone?)

I'm thankful Gordon's root-canal-in-waiting is not hurting much and can wait until Monday when the procedure was rescheduled. Thankful for Gordon's good driving skills and for his rumpus pushing skills...and for how well he took care of me today.

Thankful for remembering a funny/embarrassing adventure with my mom, and thankful for remembering all the sewing she accomplished while she sat in waiting rooms...however, I don't think Mama ever logged any stitching time in a Tire Waiting Room!

And I'm thankful to YOU for allowing me to prattle all of this out of my system and wind down enough, hopefully, for a much needed NAP! (And Gordon is very thankful he is NOT female! LOL  He can't understand while I have been all a-Twitter!)

Where to begin?

I'm so behind in sharing stuff with you that I hardly know where to begin.  

If I wanted to blog about something lately, I did not have accompanying pictures to share. Or if I have the pictures to share, I've been too tired to edit them to upload and write anything. 

That is something for which to be thankful because it means I have been more active lately than I have been in many months of that stupid bronchitis. Today Gordon carried the oxygen-making machine back upstairs to the closet where it has been stored. I no longer need supplemental oxygen. YEAH!

We're planning a "freshening" project for the kitchen involving paint and a new floor and some re-organization. We've been moving Unc's wood-working out of the kitchen in preparation.

Yes, you read that right. In the 4 plus months I was sick and in bed most of the time, Unc moved into the kitchen with his carving. The kitchen is the center of the house, and he likes to be around people when he carves. I was unaware of how bad the kitchen was getting, and Gordon was torn between not worrying me and still keeping Unc close by to watch (and be sure he was not cutting off fingers).

I won't tell you how many of his tools and pieces of wood and carving chips and layers of wood dust were actually in the kitchen because I don't think you would believe me! I did not take any pictures of that clutter either!

This is also another step of the journey of turning the kitchen from Mama's kitchen to my kitchen. Those of you who have made such a conversion will understand the heavy baggage of memories, good and bad.  Off to work on the kitchen now...

Oh, the wild turkey (which is a female, Unc says) visited us one morning recently to check out the free fruit under the Mulberry tree! I was surprised how much they walk with a regal gait like a peacock!

Happy Flowers and Green Thumb Ladies

Here are some of the pretty flowers that have beautified the farm this spring.

It has been so rainy for so long, and I have had this ongoing bronchitis-like stuff, so Gordon or Unc brought flowers inside to cheer me up.

Some of the rain-drenched flower shots that Gordon snatched between rains are my favorite flower pictures from the first five months of 2009.

Now, looking back at these pictures from the past five months, as I share them with you, I realize how just a photo of flowers can brighten one's day.

For a good while we thought this bronchitis-like stuff might be triggered by allergy, so the only flowers I received from the yard (since I was house-bound by the chronic coughing) were photos of flowers blooming in the yard.

Each of these flowers in these photographs come with memories. Most happy, some bittersweet.

I remember one particular afternoon, about 18 years ago, when Unc, Mama and I went to Kay Emmon's homeplace in Carroll County to buy starts of this antique rose. (first two photos) That was quite an adventure finding her stately 1870-era farmhouse.

She "pegged" rose bushes to make baby plants. That method calls for pulling a rose branch down to the ground and putting a brick on the branch to hold it in contact with the soil so that new roots can form. After about a year, you can sever the branch and transplant the baby rose plant.

Other types of plants she started under quart jars around her yard. There were small battalions of little quart jars stationed at strategic places. It was quite a visual experience of color and little armies of quart jars and bricks.

That was  a magical afternoon, and we bought a number of antique roses and lillac and fragrant violets from her.

What are your memories of special Green Thumb Ladies you have met through the years? I have a cousin in California who sends photos of the roses cut from her yard.  LaNelle Renfroe Johnson must have roses in bloom 12 months of the year!

She sends her rose pictures to various family and friends. Those pictures are really a day brightener!

As for this bronchitis like stuff, the doctor put me on a different course of medicine yesterday, and it seems to be working. As soon as I now, I will share with you a very suprising cause of chronic bronchitis-like cough that has grounded me for well over three months.

A nice Mother's Day...except

I've had these photos edited and waiting to be blogged for several months. I don't know why I just could not get in the mood to blog them.

Mama would have been especially proud of the Legislative thing. Many thanks to our State Representative Bobby Howell of Kilmichael, MS. He has been a rare breed of state lawmaker!

The highlight of today:  waking up from a nap to see Unc with a LIVE weed-eater, walking through the den, weed-eater held high, on his way to the front to trim around the flower beds in the front.

All I could think of was the furniture in the hall.  I could see the stately old hall tree and wardrobe-turned glass curio cabinet scarred from a weed-eater's hungry twine.

It seems the grass trimmer is difficult to start, so, rather than walk around the house to the front walk, he decided to take a short-cut through the house.

I'm sorry to admit that I don't take such things in stride as well as I once did. The event erased all thoughts of what I had planned to do Sunday afternoon...like folding clothes and particular sewing tasks and which dog to wash when I took a shower this evening....

So, I've accomplished nothing today. It is almost midnight and I still have not quite relaxed enough to seek sleep. These little "episodes" just don't roll off of me like they once did.

Several folks over on Facebook suggested being thankful it was not a chainsaw! We have several chainsaw stories of similar shock value.

Another suggested being thankful it was not a lawnmower. Yep, we have lawnmower and tractor stories that still haunt my dreams.

There is a book begging to be written from this journey Gordon and I have been traveling the last five plus years! I'm not sure whether it belongs in the humor section or the horror section!!!

Somehow I have the sense that Mama is saying,
"Oh, Penny, I understand!"  Then she turns aside and tries to hide her laughter.

We women all understand, don't we?

What a Week!

Just prattle tonight, folks!

We finished a pesky project that has been lurking around for 14 months. It was not fun, but it is over. I'm so thankful for that!

So tonight, we celebrated with some of that delicious pizza from our local Independent grocery store. I drooled about it here. It is the first time we have savored this pizza in months!

We've been enjoying some wonderful food from the freezers as we try to eat all the home grown vegetables and such before gardening season hits full tilt. We are also trying to cut down on our grocery expenses.

I doubt I will ever get tired of yellow squash and corn on the cob. SO delicious. The beautiful corn we froze in the shuck and put it in two pillowcases late last summer. We did cut off the ends of each ear of corn.

We had never before frozen corn on the cob like this, but our friend Dot Ward recommended it, and it is the only way we will ever freeze sweet corn again! 

Regardless of the delicious food we have been eating from the freezers this year, there was no fresh pizza among the frozen treasure.

That simple pizza was such a boost to our spirits that together, the three of us have washed dogs, cleaned floors, washed and folded clothes...several very productive hours. There is a sense of peace from seeing routine household jobs completed. 

Tomorrow is a new day. A clean slate. I will choose to face it with expectation that God will sprinkle the day with blessings as large as bringing a big project to a close, or as small as a piece of pizza or a piece of home-grown corn, still fresh after months in the freezer.

Considering all the suffering in this world, we have so much for which to be thankful!

A Quirky Day

So, twice today I have put the TV on Law and Order: Criminal Intent, gotten into the program (same episode), and one or more of my fellas has invaded my sewing nook to ask me something, show me something, etc.  Before I knew it, Gordon had changed the channel to something else and then hid the controls.

No, he really HIDES the controls. I am convinced of that!

Tonight I thought i was home free. Gordon was deep in thought in his computer nest, and Unc was in a cloud of flying carving curls and Dremel dust in the kitchen. Yes, I said kitchen. That is where he likes to carve and leave the proof of his labor on the floor.

Seeing Unc and Gordon happily involved, I sneaked the television remote to my sewing nest tonight and found Law and Order again. The episode I missed earlier this afternoon had surprisingly started to run again. Yeah! I was going to find out "who done what"!

About the time the show reached the part of the program that I had not been able to see earlier in the day...my nest was invaded again...by the same tresspassers, accompanied by some four legged invaders.

Ahh, such is life, and I am thankful my two fellas WANT to show me things and ask questions, etc.

Life would be very empty if they were not around to get in my hair! So I am thankful for the different sound made by every foot or paw that patters in search of me.

It has been a quirky day. It still is being a quirky day, so I'm going to post this short post with these two pictures and call it a day. 

My Big Boy Mackie is crawling on top of my hand sewing, wanting to snuggle. That is the priority.

To me: a resort, a CIA front operation, a therapist couch!

To you, this may look like just a simple space with a view and a sewing machine.

To me, this is a therapist's couch, a 5 star spa resort, a CIA front operation and a mental brainstorming white board.

There is old paneling to be painted. Old windows to be scraped, re-glazed and painted. Work tables to be covered in perky oil cloth. Shelves to be painted. Paint, paint and more paint!

So much redecorating work to do now and an even more exhaustive list of changes to make as we can afford it, have time to DIY it and have the courage to tackle the bigger projects.

Today Gordon and Unc spent three hours helping move furniture, bringing up sewing stuff from the studio where Gordon and I lived for five years.

Then the sweeties helped me clean up behind ourselves. Gordon has cooked dinner and Unc just brought in a frosted coke! Simple to you, but priceless memories being made as far as I am concerned!

I cannot tell you what it feels like to look across the room at this little simple sight.

It is hard to cull stuff I've seen all my life, like Daddy's indoor/outdoor thermometer. I think the thing looks horrid, but it is going to be very hard to take off the wall.

That paneling I have hated all of my life, but painting it will be difficult, and totally removing it would be much too painful for the moment.

One day I want a sewing/design studio that makes my heart stop.

For now nesting, going through generations of accumulation in a family of verifiable pack-rats, making do with what we have, redefining our space with paint and re-purposed furniture... makes my heart go pitter-pitter-pat-pat.

I suspect at the end of our journey of turning this old farmhouse into our own home, the small moments will have gilded our nest with golden memories.

OH, can you figure out how this corner of our life is my CIA front operation?  *impish giggle*

Fabric Pregnant with Anticipation

The fabric and I are both pregnant with anticipation! If I could paint my emotions, that painting would look like this fabric plus more. Lots more.

Gordon brought in from the Post Office a package of the most beautiful yellow fabric from Stitchin' Heaven. Pulling back the grass green tissue paper that made the simple fabric shipment a delightful Spring treat, the yellow yardage flooded my spirit like a ray of sunshine peeping, then crashing through the clouds.

The fabric is pregnant with possibilities. As one Internet friend wrote me this week, she gets her fabrics out to pet rather often until the fabric "tells" her what it wants to become.

I'm sure she is not implying anything supernatural about that. I know that my favorite fabrics have, to date, been impossible for me to cut into.

The third picture is of a piece of fabric I have been saving to make a Thangles quilt. The Thangles program began and ended in 2008. I bought the little monthly kits, but have not yet started the quilt. It has not been time.

The fabric told me today that a small part of it was ready to be made into a collar slipcover for Jenny B.

Yes, I'm pregnant with anticipation for Jenny B, our new Westie.

She is 10 months old, and we travel to another state to pick her up. A 4.5 hour trip, give or take. Jenny B is not a rescue. She has been well bred, well tended and well loved.

I've been packing our bag for tomorrow, full of toys with the scents of Charlotte, Lillibeth and Mackie. Annie's scent will be on at least one of them.

Annie's scent will be on the knitted shawl that I cannot wash since wrapping it around Annie's sick little body as she snuggled with me, day after day, up until the end. Jenny B needs to know the beautiful little soul who came before her.

Now to sleep. Early tomorrow today, we pack the van with pillows and comforters and toys and water and harness, collar and leash.

I'll make something special for little Jenny B during the 4.5 hours to pick up my new fur baby! Something from this happy blue and white checked daisy fabric.

If you have human children, please don't sneer, and please don't pity.

This is right where God wants us to be, right where God knows we are, and right where God planned for us to be at this time.

A little bundle of fur is bringing life and sunshine and love into the life of a middle-aged couple and their 83 year old relative, pushing out the grey clouds of two recent deaths. The other dogs understand.

Bustin' Out

The fruit trees are bustin' out in bloom. Actually, the leaves are developing now to protect the fragile blooms from surprise cold snaps. It looks like we will have heirloom peaches and apples and pear to eat and put up this year!

The Spring Cleaning Wench is bustin' out inside the farmhouse. Nope, no pictures unless a covey of DIY network shows come calling WITH tool boxes and supply trucks and muscle power!

The quilting bug is bustin' out. That particular little bee has managed to log some stitching time every day for about a week. Not much time each day, to be truthful, but real progress, nontheless! Pictures taken. Editing and blogging will be forthcoming.

The doggie fever is bustin' out in more than one of us, although I am the only one to admit the excitement. Too soon for details. I can tell you that dog toys are being gathered from hiding places, washed and sorted for necessary repairs. Dog bones are being gathered from separate hiding places and inspected for appropriateness. That's all I can say at present.

A hummingbird was sighted by a friend in the county, so hummingbird feeders will be going up this week.

So what kind(s) of moss are pictured on this branch? I'm totally fascinated with it!

Buzz buzzing off to sleep now.