It’s 41 degrees outside today, and the wind is blowing around a chill factor lowering the temperature’s effect another five or ten degrees. And the danged mesquite trees are beginning to leaf out, so this weather really shouldn’t be happening. Granddaddy used to say that the almanac was nearly always right, and that potatoes shouldn’t go into the ground until after Easter. Seems he is still right about the crops and weather.
We needed a rain so badly that we didn’t mind if this fog turned into snow this morning, but lighting that stove in the kitchen still irked me. It’s supposed to be pretty this time of year. But then, in a day or so we will probably have to run the air conditioners.
The little flower bed out by the front side of the house includes a bird feeder, a bird bath, a metal garden bench, and various pots of plants and some plants that remained in the ground—including the petunias that come back to life each spring after a hard winter. This winter hasn’t been hard at all, so the petunias are playing it up to be spring like. The old standby lavenders, pinks, and whites are all nodding their blossoms at the birds as the seeds fly over and around them. Inevitably some of those seeds will sprout and have to be plucked out by hand. That’s ok. I like the green stuff and the dirt better than many things I have put in my hands.
The bluebonnets are showing off their stuff over on Highway 79 near Sutherlands. The grass hasn’t had enough moisture to make it grow tall, so the bluebonnets show up well. It’s amazing to me that people think that they have to have good soil to grow pretty flowers. The buffalo bean and the bluebonnet grow in the poorest soil around. In that, they are akin to the aspens. It used to be that the old timers knew what kind of soil to expect just by looking at the growth on the rolls of the hills. Aspens were a sure guarantee of poor soil. Of course, the prairie wasn’t meant for corn, cotton, and the like. It was meant to be pasture land. But man has always tried to make the land to conform to his so-called needs. If we hadn’t slaughtered the buffalos, this nation could still be eating the best meat available.
This morning the Internet news included a little blurb about an elephant bird egg being up for sale. Now anyone in his right mind knows that that egg has been spoilt for a looooong time. And if a body is THAT hungry, an ostrich egg should do the trick—or maybe two of them. And the ostriches are not even extinct. Stink, maybe, but not EX-stink. Again, if man hadn’t done a bit too much over hunting, those elephant birds could probably put Tyson out of business.
A bright blue tarp covers my pot plants outside, and the stove is keeping us warm enough in the house. I keep wondering when this danged dog is going to decide it is nicer outside. Until he quits barking to come in during the day, I guess I will just keep cleaning paw prints off the floors. But that is ok as well. If he is leaving paw prints, that means we are getting some kind of moisture for the land. Whoever thought I would be happy to see paw prints on my floors!