Full Moon Wishes And Dreams

Oh, goodness, I feel like the quiet hub of a buzzing, whirling world. Not the center of the universe, just the part that is still.

Mr. Moon is in the woods for the second time today and besides that, has sold a car. He comes in to shower with take-your-scent-away soap and change into whatever outfit he needs for the activity before him. One thing I do not enjoy about hunting season is having to use all unscented washing detergent and softener. Laugh all you want, I love the smell of some fabric softeners. But if anything smells of anything, the deer will know and so there you go- he must be unscented, as if that were possible.
He brings home trail camera pictures and videos of the deer and other animals that trigger the contraption. Today there were two bears. Bears are big, y'all. But Mr. Moon just laughs and shoos them away if they get too close. They look like big cuddly pets in the videos but those are blurry and black and white and I know that up close they are huge and have very long claws and very sharp teeth and no, black bears do not generally (hardly ever!) attack a human unprovoked, but still...
Jason hunted this morning too and came in to report that he'd seen some young bucks or does or something. I guess bucks. "I've seen them grow up," he said. "I feel like their father. I can't shoot them."
This is the kind of hunters I know and love. They go for meat and to see what is in the woods and they go many, many times without raising a rifle.

Anyway, all of that is happening in the woods and in the world and I have been here, going as far as the trash place, the post office. That's all. Hank and Anna came out to visit and we did and I have chili cooking and that is all.

I had to water the plants. Had to. And in doing so, I discovered that some of the hens are laying again in the fern on the front porch. Those eggs above are the ones I found in there. I know they are fresh because I only uncovered the plants a few days ago. Eggs are packaged to last. Believe me.

I put two cans of tomatoes in my chili, paranoid now about the report that canned tomatoes leach some horrible chemical from their containers and that we should never, never use them.
Oh fuck it.
I can't possibly keep up with this shit. And then someone will come along soon and say, "Oh, no big whoops. We were wrong." And if not, we'll, I guess my chili is going to kill us.

Eggs might be killing us with cholesterol or maybe this year they aren't, but I'll tell you this- the way they are packaged will not. And how beautiful! No Madison Avenue art department could come up with a fancier package, no label required.

When Hank was here, I gave him a quick run-down on what his chicken duties will be when he house sits for us while we are away. "I guess you don't really need to know their names, do you?" I asked him.
"I don't think so," he said.
I sighed. And then told him all of their names anyway and pointed out how to identify them all. I know it looks like I have six identical black hens but if you know them, they are as different as night and oh...a different night.
It doesn't matter to a soul on this earth except for me. The chickens don't care although I am convinced that Elvis knows his name. I have seen Owen call him and he has come to the boy. Owen and Elvis have grown up together. Do you remember when they looked like this?

And then this?


So hard to believe. Now Owen lets the chickens out and calls them and feeds them. "Owen DO it," he says. He cracks crackers for them by stomping on them with his boots. And then casually reaches down and picks up a piece which is bigger than the rest and pops it into his mouth.
Sigh.
He also lets the goats nibble on carrots and then before I can stop him, puts the carrots back into his own mouth. But he returns the favors- he chomps up collard greens and spits them out for the chickens to eat.
So far, it's working for all of us.

Well. Saturday night. Prairie Home Companion is about to be on. The chickens are up in their roost. The sky is growing dark. I need to remember to go out look at that full moon.

And it's Lon Williamson's birthday! Mr. Moon and I need to call him and at least leave him a message, tell him how glad we are that he was born, that he is a part of our lives. Happy birthday, Lonnie! We love you truly! Always and forever. There is no one on earth like you which is sad, because if there were, it would be better here for all of us. As it is, your presence graces us always.

And to dear Elizabeth- thank-you. I cannot wait to read this book to my grand boy. It made me so happy to read it to myself and I hope he loves it as much as I do because I want to read it many, many times.


I am not sure why my pictures got so small but they did and it's just one of the many mysteries of life, especially when Google is concerned.

I'll leave you with this, which is the last paragraph of that book:

That night, when she went to bed, she was very tired. But she looked through the branches and she could see a million stars. The wind blew gently and rocked the tree like a cradle. It was very peaceful and Miss Suzy was happy once more.

May we all sleep peacefully and be happy once more.

Love...Ms. Moon