The Caregiver’s Tales
Tiny essays on life, nature, grief and other things that catch my fancy in the Texas Hill Country. Here’s how it all got started.
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Back At It
The front flowerbeds flanking the driveway entrance to our home are transformed. Gone are the spineless cactus. Laid low by the freeze, I cut them down and dug them up.
Book News
A new book is in the works. The Seasons: A Caregiver’s Tale. It will be a nature book about the hill country from the vantage point of my little home, which is a tiny spot, but so was Walden Pond, and I’m making no comparative claims, except that you can sit in one place and think.
Standing
Like an old dog, I stood in the sun yesterday and did nothing. Three times.
Tiny Morsels
The feeder is up, and the birds have finally arrived. For many long days it hung there in the branches of the mesquite by the pasture fence looking abandoned. Then gradually, one at time here they came.
Spring Symphony
Once again, it’s the small things. Went on a tour of the yard yesterday with my son, the arborist, and discovered the Mexican Buckeyes are blooming. Delicate little flowers, and another spring joy …
Life Lesson
The marie pavia roses are going to need a pruning. But I’m going to let them reveal where the cuts need to come.
What You Have
The spineless cacti in the beds on either side of the drive are as limp as melted butter. The recent freeze did them no favors. But the peach tree. Oh, my. In a day or two, I do believe it will put a redbud to shame.
Head Up
It’s always the small things. They make or break things. Relationships. Jobs. Moods.
Another Day
I know spring is coming, because I can see the discrete little signs, budding leaves are all around, on the roses and on the trees. But for some reason, the start of the season seems disconsolate,,,
Garden of Life
Spring days have a nice feel to them. Chill in the morning, warming in the afternoon, chill at night. I can embark on my day’s gardening, knowing the sun will warm my work, and the evening will bring me peace.
Dead Leaves
I never really think about how many leaves are on the branches of our big oaks. They just hang there, swaying in the breeze, providing shade and shelter to me and the birds and the cats. Then comes the spring molt.
Look Who’s Here
Good Times
The Sandhill Cranes were flying yesterday. Their distinctive clucking call fell from the sky, but I could never locate the flock as it flew by. They were too high and moving too fast.
Keeping On
Went for a short walk this morning. Down the drive, out the gate, and back. It was the Tuesday morning taking out the trash walk. I noticed someone did a lousy job of turning around by my driveway. T
Hummingbird
All the leaves are brown, against the blue sky, and it’s obvious something hard came this way. The big oaks look weary. The leaves are burned, but oddly, none have fallen to the ground.
Surviving
It appears the natural order is reestablishing itself. Mama cat spent the night outside after having spent the previous eight days bunked down on the king bed with me while the rest of the world froze.
Almost Done 2
As I suspected, the snow in my little piece of Texas departed the scene with the arrival of the sun. Its exodus sped up when the temperature crossed 32. The pasture is once again wearing its brown winter uniform while the winter greens are still green.
It Comes in Silence
I like the silence of snow. It falls with grace and arrives in dignity. It’s in no hurry to leave, either. Unlike its cousin the rain, which splatters and clatters and is always rushing off to get somewhere else, snow sits around, enjoys the view, and waits for the sun.
Grandmother’s House
Well, this weather event is interesting, in that Chinese curse sort of way, may you live in interesting times. All week long I was looking toward today and relief, only to realize last night that we have another round of winter scheduled for today.
A Good Break
I made a pot of beans yesterday. Which seems relatively mundane until you realize it took a crock pot eight hours to do it. And yesterday there were people unable to even heat themselves much less run a crock pot for eight hours.