Fuel Crisis

My pulse quickened as I glanced at the indicator on my gas gauge, sitting in the red just above the big E. I had overshot the greenhouse I'd been looking for, and now, I realized, I needed to find a gas station. Soon. It wasn't like I was in danger; it was full daylight on a well traveled stretch of highway in north central Arkansas, in about as friendly of a place as you would ever find. Still, who wants the inconvenience and embarrassment of running out of gas? Before you start recalling blonde jokes, let me mention that the last time I ran out was about 1987.

I estimated that the town ahead of me was closer than the one I'd left behind, so I pressed on, praying that my fumes would carry me to Gassville. With a name like that, I figured they ought to have plenty of gas stations.

It wasn't long until I saw one. I rolled in on fumes, put more gas in my car than I thought it could hold, and got directions to the greenhouse.

On the way back, I stopped to take pictures of a dilapidated barn by the side of the highway. It shared the shade of the nearby oak trees with the cows that grazed nearby. Apparently, this old structure ran out of gas quite a while back.

Linking with Rurality Blog Hop.

Thanks to Kim Klassen for her texture, Pourvous.

Heads Up

Along the roadside, where poppies bloom,

heads hang low, with hair glistening in the sunlight...

then raise toward the sky... 

releasing black and orange treasures.

Visiting ladybugs wear their matching outfits.

Spent petals drop, one by one,

and seeds ripen, promising another year's beauty.

Once again I whisper thanks to the One who made them,

who lifts bowed heads and fills our hearts with joy.

You, Lord, are a shield around me, my glory, the one who lifts my head high.

Psalm 3:3  







Linking with Rurality Blog Hop

       

We Have Liftoff

Our front porch is quiet this morning after a flurry of activity the past few days. 

 Six small Carolina wrens left the shelter of their nest in the creel 

that hangs from a stone pillar.

Two of them left at dusk Monday evening, 

their dark frames silhouetted against the sky 

as they looked out from their perch on the top of the basket, 

and then from the roof.

The next day, the third fledgling appeared, timidly...

seemingly awed by the new world around him...

and the perils it presented.  

"What if I fall?"

A sibling shored up his confidence...

while the parents kept close watch from nearby.

The last two fledglings made their getaway late in the morning, 

and even tried a little rock climbing before getting accustomed to their wings.

This afternoon, out of habit, I glanced out the front window before stepping outside, 

to be sure the coast was clear, but the front porch was strangely silent.  

In the basket, after the birds had left, one small egg remained.

There were seven eggs, 

and the original contents of six of them have now metamorphosized 

into six new minstrels flying in the forest, 

singing their song.

We're glad that the birds fledged on time for their introduction to 

Wild Bird Wednesday and Camera Critters,

and also on time to wish a Happy Birthday to my good friend, Pat.

Seeing Red

Gray squirrels have never been endangered at our place.  Far from it.  We look out the window in the morning to see six or ten of them in a row eating the corn we've thrown out for the deer and turkeys, and two or three hanging out on the deck, as well as a few under the bird feeders.  They are so abundant that we pay scant attention to them, except when they chew on the deck, or dig up our newly planted bedding plants, or trash the bird feeder.

A little over a week ago, we saw a red squirrel, the first we've seen here in about six years. They're larger than the grays, and somewhat slower, and Don says they're dumber, too.  In the old days, when Don used to hunt squirrels, he was in a tree stand when a red squirrel came up to him, put it's small front paw on Don's boot, and looked up at his face.  That was the last time Don hunted red squirrels.  Don says he didn't have the heart to hunt something that clueless, it didn't seem sporting, but I suspect that the little creature's trusting move got under one tough hunter's skin.  The other day when I was about to chase Red out of the bird feeder, Don said, "this one gets a free pass".  Wonders never cease.

A few days later, there were two of them.  Now I've seen three at one time (don't tell Don), and who knows if there are more?

While the red squirrel honeymoon is still upon us, we're enjoying their antics.  When I stepped outside yesterday, one of them ran a short distance up a tree, then turned around and started down.  Halfway down the tree, it paused with its paw in the air, like an inchworm, flailing to find where to take its next step.

We went to visit some friends today, just west of here, and we saw a couple of red squirrels standing by the side of the road, shouldering tiny backpacks, their thumbs out, and a little sign that said "Smiley's place".

They're pushing it.

Linking with Camera Critters
and Mandarin Orange Monday