Pleasurable and Painstaking

A Relaxing Form

Study each Plant

Grown as Nature Intended

Now Changed, A New Form

Train a new Way to Mind

Like a Rebellious Child

Who Grows into a fine vintage wine

Unique still…

A Pleasure Reborn

An excerpt from My Journey Begins Where the Road Ends - one of my favorites. In honor of our lovely Kathryn Elizabeth on her birthday!

Katy, Katy

“Watch it,” Cromley yells over the drone of the chainsaw, “you’ll cut your nuts off.”

I’d flash him the finger, but would have to let go of the saw. Instead, I ponder the enormity of his offhand comment. I plan to keep my manhood. None of this cutting, no ceremonial slit. I’ve taken to this aura of fatherhood.

Glenda doesn’t want any more children, after this one. Three will be enough, and all by Caesarian Section. Catholic upbringing or not, she’ll have her tubes tied this go round.

A half-acre stand of scrub oak, and a few scraggly, jack pine mixed in, nothing like the hardwood forests back home in Michigan. Cromley knows the owner, and woke me early on a Saturday morning, “Let’s go. I’ve got a case of beer, and gas and oil for the chainsaw. We can get enough fireplace wood for two years. Wear your boots.”

Boots for the snakes. Water moccasins. Not much else lives in this north Florida island jungle, a lowland between the intercostal waterway and the Atlantic. A few Key deer, wild pigs, and snakes.

January, but still hot and humid, my shirt is soaked with sweat. We’ve been cutting wood all day. Cromley’s rusty Mazda pickup, pushing two-hundred-fifty thousand miles, overflows with stacked firewood. I switch off the saw, limp toward the truck, pull the last two beers from the cooler, and toss one to Cromley. His muscled arm reaches out and catches the can in midair. He stands tall and strong in these woods, with a deep, burnt-on tan. He’s the ship’s Engineering Officer, a sailor all his life, and ten years my senior, though he works for me when we’re on board the Cutter Sweetgum. Here, just friends, I call out, “Red on the head like a dick on a dog.”

Cromley’s young wife, younger than me, looks out the window, and watches while we stack his half of the wood. She’s pretty, wants me to teach her the guitar. Cromley kids, laughs his belly laugh, “Ya, I know how that goes.”

We figure we’ve sweated out the half case each, so stop off at the Anchor Bar for one last beer, before heading to my place to stack the last of the wood. By the time we leave, the sky has grown dark, and we can barely walk. Cromley drops me off without pulling into the drive, “I’ll bring the wood over in the morning.”

Glenda sits on the couch quietly. Elsa and James are already in bed, sleeping. I jump in the shower, dry off, and slump in a chair.

“I think I’m in labor. I’ve been having contractions all day.”

She has my full attention. The appointment for the C-section is a week away. I call the doctor, “Get in here, now,” she orders.

“I have to take a bath first, and wash my hair.” And she does. My nervous fidgeting begins.

I call the neighbor to sit with the other, sleeping kids, start the VW Rabbit, and lay out a pillow and blanket in the passenger seat. She dries her thick, brown-black hair. Her contractions increase. I speed the twelve miles inland toward the hospital in Jacksonville, cross the bridge over the intercostal, and look down through the darkness. Deep black water turns into a jungle of scrub oak and pine. I swerve to dodge a small armored tank, an armadillo, feeding on a dead snake.

The doctor meets the car at the emergency drive-through entrance. Attendants help her onto a stretcher, and swoop her away. I park the car and run into the hospital.

Already in surgery. I wait, sober, no longer tired and worn from a day in the woods, no longer a drunken sailor on the town. And finally I hear, “You can see them now.”

If we have a girl, we’ve decided, we’ll call her Katy, Kathryn Elizabeth.

Katy, our third and youngest, clings beautifully to her mother’s breast, and suckles.

“I know I could have had her naturally,” Glenda smiles.

He came to me as a cardinal bright red

staring from a safe perch of a fading brown bush

my muddy yellow cat

three days

and three nights gone

My heart feels heavy as I walk slowly through the woods

hoping to find a trace

some semblance

some sign

even as I understand he has gone

The coyote left his scat

along the winding drive

where often we walked

and I would wait

while he rubbed the legs of my jeans

In the dark nights

of this north country

the distance to the barn

and safety

must have seemed insurmountable

The dog somehow knows

we are searching

for they were reluctant companions

vying for my attention like siblings

family

These beautiful hills

can be hard

unforgiving

The muddy cat killed

his share of creatures

blue jay feathers might appear scattered about

a fledgling bunny or chipmunk

partially eaten

carried boldly in his jaws

I fight the urge to oil up my rifle

though if the coyote

showed his coat in daylight

I would surely

put an end to him

A well-lived life of a country cat

not nearly simple

not like in the city

spoiled in a warm home with

a litter box and toys to chase

He came as a cardinal

to say goodbye

my heart is heavy as I walk through the woods

Filling the hummingbird feeders for perhaps the last gasp of summer – I will miss theses birds when they fly, but for now watch as he sits on the clothesline and waits for the bees to clear…

Sunflowers have finally shown a golden-yellow face. Some planted and some perchance have grown where they will – seeds dropped by the birds grow in peace…

Last of the sweet corn dwindles in the sun – but much has been put up and the taste will linger through the winter…

Trials and tribulations of an old organic farmer’s grandson – The early summer drought, various pests and several wind storms have been tough on the vinifera. Enough for wine?? We shall see…

Yes, I will miss the hummers, the dragonflies, and the stately monarch as they migrate to southern climes – and I will trust good fortune that I will meet the GENTLE SPIRITS again in the Spring…

We found this little fella sitting on a shop vac in the barn. He seemed stunned and unable to fly. We gently put him in an old dog kennel and called the Skegemog Raptor Rescue folks out of Traverse City. I met them just north of Elk Rapids and transferred him to their crate. Th

“In the aftermath of the storm, Angelique walked barefoot along the Cumberland shore. She loved the sand between her toes but carefully avoided the flotsam. Seaweed, bits of trees and branches, and links of broken anchor chain had been driven up by the tide and left to merge with sandy mud upon the ebb.”

Memorial Weekend – our thoughts are with those who served…

Muddy Waters The Second just wants breakfast…

Sweet Betty just resting in the shade…

Scarecrow Woman with a new set of clothes

Scarecrow Woman watches over the planted corn – keeps the pesky crows away. The garden is in, we await the goodness of fresh tomatoes, carrots, cukes, and herbs. Hoping a new swarm finds the bee box. So summer has arrived – and we savor the blessings of nature on our own little corner of the world.

Please see Bookstore tab for a personally signed copy.

And More – a Photograph by neighbor and friend Bill Dietrich – a crane above the barn –