Dark Day Lily

I'm staying with friends in Highlands for a few days and may or may not have Internet access -- I'll be back Sunday, at the latest.

 

 

 

A Field of Daisies

 Thirty-nine years ago my husband and I decided to escape the ever-expanding suburbs that were wiping out the old Florida where we’d grown up. We ran away in search of a new home.

On a day in early June, we found ourselves sitting in a mountain pasture, watching the daisies stirring in the breeze and listening to the hollow sound of a pileated woodpecker hammering on a tree. The sky was Carolina blue and all we could see in the distance were mountains, green with trees and the occasional pasture. Except for an old cabin behind us and two tobacco barns just below the field, not another building was in sight. Breathing in that sweet mountain air, we decided we were home.

 

It was the beauty of the place that bewitched us – those rolling ranks of mountain ranges in hazy blues and purples, the lush early-summer greens of the poplars and locusts, maples and walnuts, the orange day lilies crowding the banks of the creeks and branches, the blue of chicory that reflected the sky, the white of the lovely Queen Anne’s Lace . . . the beauty that seemed to be everywhere we turned.  We fell in love with the scenery, took a leap of faith, and bought the sixty acres with the barns, the cabin, and the field of daisies  . . . and then, as we spent the summer camping out in one of the barns, we fell in love with the people and a whole new way of life.

 

Thirty-nine years later  and we've never regretted that leap of faith. And every time the daisies bloom, I remember that magical day . . . sitting in the field of daisies and deciding we were home. 

 

I Love This Stuff . . .

This below was a comment on one of my older posts -- in its entirety.

is the right day bag with plenty of room web hosting and business items. And it really is versatile. At work or perhaps around the holiday you'll be considered as a girl of favor with this tote on your shoulder.  

I've mentioned before how I enjoy the surreal quality of some of these things. This one, however, left  me with some questions . . .
 
First of all, there was no link. So I can only wonder what this marvelous bag might look like, with plenty of room for web hosting and business items.

Secondly, could I find this versatile tote and put it on my shoulder, would I really be considered a girl of favor? At my age?


And what's a girl of favor, anyway?

Yon . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That's No Bull

  

"Oh, how cute!" the visitor said, "So that must be a little bull --  I see the horns starting."

 Nope. In cattle, horns have nothing to do with sex. Some breeds have them -- like Jerseys. Clover is a Jersey.

   Usually they're removed, as was the case with Silverbell and Marigold, our Jersey cows. 

 

 Big Red, our herd bull, is naturally polled (meaning he never had  horns.)

This is true for most of our Beef Devons . . .

This one in front, though, she's what our neighbors would call  'a horny cow.' Again, nothing to do with sex. She probably carries some Milking Devon genes -- the Milking Devons have horns. 

In the local terminology, a cow without horns is 'a muley cow.'  (Because mules don't have horns? I don't know.) 

 

Mystery Picture

                    

  . . . with a hint. . .

 

The End of May