We called it my Mom’s “button box,” but it was really an old decorative tin. She’d had it in her sewing room for as long as I can remember. One of us had apparently decided that it needed some labeling and took a pin to scratch in the words “Mom’s Buttons,” with an arrow helpfully pointed from the word “Mom’s” to the word “buttons.” I’m not confessing or anything, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the culprit had been me. I should disclose that I had a criminal record of past behavior of this kind, having etched my name into brand new wallpaper with a pin.

When Mom got to a certain age, she began the process of getting rid of things that they were no longer using. She invited us to glean from Dad’s workshop and her sewing room, and one of the few items I really wanted was this button box. What a treasure! Crammed full of all kinds of buttons, it had both practical and sentimental value. Before long, I realized that it was rather painstaking to find the kinds of buttons I wanted for sewing projects; what these buttons needed was some organization! And so I did this:

The buttons had been managed, but they now resided in a soulless plastic bin. It was eminently practical, but my Mom wasn’t any part of this arrangement. I kept the old tin of course, propped up decoratively on a shelf in my craft room and there it sat for years, empty and, dare I say it, sad.

A couple weeks ago I started making felt dolls and other projects and found that a lot of the projects called for old shank-type buttons. I decided to sort those type of buttons out of the box. If only I had a nice place to put those… It was a like a scene from Toy Story, I tell you. The old button box cried out from the shelf, “Me! Pick me!” I heard it and joyfully complied.

I think of my Mom every time I look at it. A true treasure.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

The herb garden is singing and by now you should know the tune. Not only that, but you should be humming it to yourself. If not, you either don’t know what these plants are OR you’re from a much younger generation than I. Maybe both. But I have confidence in you, my erudite readers.

Sing it out!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

We had our first campfire of the year on Sunday night. I think it’s the first time we’ve done a campfire when it was just the two of us – it used to be a family affair with marshmallows and sometimes the fixin’s for s’mores.

Speaking of s’mores, I feel the need to share with you all that my introduction to s’mores was not what you all are used to. First of all, our family didn’t make s’mores around a campfire when I was growing up. I’m not going to say it never happened that way, but the only way I remember making them was using the broiler in the oven. And here’s some more (hah – see what I did there?) heresy for you: our s’mores were made with saltines, peanut butter and marshmallows. I was fully grown before I found out that everyone ELSE was using chocolate and graham crackers.

Some of our best family discussions have happened around a campfire. And we were not above using the opportunity to tell scary stories now and again, too.

Have you ever been the smoke magnet at a campfire? You sit down away from where the smoke is blowing and the wind shifts – now the smoke is blowing right into your face. You move and experience a few minutes of smoke-free happiness. The wind shifts again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

This has been random thoughts about campfires brought to you by Lynniebee (with bonus content about s’mores). This is why blogs are free for you to read – sometimes you wish you could get those wasted minutes back again, but at least it didn’t cost you anything (but time).

I’ll probably delete this in the morning with hearty approval from the rest of you.

We went on a long hike today (which will be duly blogged about later this week) and saw some pelicans, which reminded me that I had studied pelicans for drawings earlier this year. My drawing studies sort of came to a screeching halt when the libraries closed. I prefer to draw from books, rather than from images on my device. I tried using our encyclopedias, but the photos weren’t very good.

The Pelican

Who wouldn’t love a pelican?
He’s a classy kind of bird.
He can fish, oh look how well he can,
He’s confident! He’s self assured!

No matter if fish are slippery
His hooked bill holds the catch.
And don’t call his pouch a frippery –
It gathers in fishies by the batch!

O, praise the God of all glories,
That He thought of this splendid bird.
The pelican is one of His stories –
And I hope it’s one you’ve heard.

I think I can do better with the last stanza, but it’ll have to wait. I made some vanilla ice cream earlier today that’s calling my name. Can you hear it?

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

We set out this morning for our second Hiking Club hike of the year. It was raining as we drove, but our devices had promised us that the rain would be gone by the time we got there. They did not lie.

Myre (MY-ree) Big Island is a beautiful park right next to Albert Lea Lake and its associated ponds. The hike of 6.2 miles would be our longest hike yet. On our way there, I looked over the state park map and we did some strategizing for the 2020 Hiking Club year for us. We’re hoping to finish up the southeastern quadrant (1 more park: 6.2 miles), the North Shore cluster (4 parks; 8.9 miles total)), the Mississippi River/Eastern border cluster (4 parks; 16.3 miles total) and a couple more central Minnesota parks (7 miles total). If we have time, we’ll consider the southwestern cluster (5 parks; 14.2 miles total). That’s pretty ambitious and would bring our total mileage to over 100 miles. It’s easy to be ambitious while looking at a map.

The hike at Myre actually starts out on the Big Island, which you drive to over a land causeway. We set out as soon as we got all our gear on and were gratified to see that there are toilets set aside just for our elite hiking club – ha ha! Well, it turned out those were closed anyway.

Since our last hike in April, the land of Minnesota has greened up beautifully. Our path was somewhat muddy, but wide and winding through tons of trees and spring wildflowers.

And the bird sounds – a veritable choir! We couldn’t see them since they now had the cover of leaves, but they made their presence known. The other choir that we heard was more whiny – the sound of hundreds and thousands (millions and millions and millions…) of bugs that looked like large mosquitos. I called them “odd flies.” More on these devilish hordes later.

The first part of the hike took us most of the way around the island itself and then we got onto the causeway and walked across to the mainland. We began seeing groups of large white birds wheeling around in the sky and upon closer examination (i.e. we suddenly noticed that there were a few in the water right by us), we realized we were looking at a colony of pelicans. Farther away, we could see a large group, probably nesting. One of my drawing projects had been pelicans, so I enjoyed seeing them up close. I took lots of photos, but assuming you don’t want to see all of them, I’ll just select a few to post here.

Once across the causeway, we turned right and started the larger part of the hike which would take us around most of the park. It was nice to get off of the mud for awhile, since it was slippery and required more attention while walking. White Fox trail was mostly grassy, with muddy bits here and there. Did I mention how humid it was? I might bring that up a couple more times.

By now we were on terrain that was more meadow-like and reminded us of Fort Ridgely. There were gobs of honeysuckle bushes, all in bloom – the scent was heavy and heavenly.

From White Fox trail, we got onto Blazing Star Trail (which gets the Anne of Green Gables naming award), a nicely paved bike trail.

The sun had come out and it was now sunny AND humid. By the time we got to the halfway point, just where the trail begins to go back south, we decided we were ready for a Clif bar break. The Hiking Club planners nicely anticipated the need by putting a picnic table there. Oh, my aching legs. And feet. And knees. It was nice to sit down.

By this time, we were thoroughly impressed by the number of maps along the trail – best mappage so far of the parks we’ve been to. They were like little signposts of encouragement along the way.

We left the paved biking trail and headed south, met by the aforementioned hordes of odd-flies – we weren’t sure what they were. They didn’t seem to be interested in biting us (good news), but were present in swarms of biblical proportions (bad news) and if you weren’t careful, would fly into your mouth (really bad news – only happened to me once.).

The terrain was muddier and occasionally went downhill, which necessitated either walking on the sides of the trail (shhh…don’t tell anyone that I freely stomped on all sorts of defenseless little plants on the side of the path), or grabbing hold of little branches along the way to keep from slipping and falling. The trail hardship level was rising.

On the positive side of the ledger, Kris spotted a painted turtle that I’d walked right by. And a millipede. At one point, he saw an iridescent green beetle, but I was trying to get a photo of an odd-fly on his knapsack, so I missed it. Oh well… We also passed by a couple empty eggs and wondered if they’d been hatched or eaten.

We began seeing glimpses of the lake again and at last saw the causeway ahead. The last several yards before reaching the pavement, the odd-fly horde seemed to realize that it was their last chance to overwhelm us and they did their best. By this time, they were pelting me under my hat and getting behind my glasses. Enough already! Once we were out on the road, Kris insisted on getting a photo of me, so here I am faithfully taking notes for this blog as I walk.

We crossed back over to the Big Island and saw the the trail we were supposed to take (appealingly named “Cormorant Trail”), but it was closed.

Kris didn’t see that sign, but I pointed it out, thinking this would necessitate a discussion. He didn’t even hesitate – off we went into forbidden territory. By this time we’d suffered punishing humidity, battled bug hordes and been on hazardous muddy trails. We were NOT going to be denied the pleasure of taking a trail that would bring us close to the pelican nesting area that we’d seen earlier (not to mention the possibility of seeing cormorants. Which, spoiler alert, we didn’t.).

Bring it on.

It turned out that the worst this trail had to offer us was a couple downed trees on the path. Hah – child’s play!

We were getting close to the pelican party and started trying to walk as silently as elves so we wouldn’t startle them into flying away. The elves make it look so easy. In spite of the fact that we kept clumsily walking on sticks that broke loudly, the pelicans were completely blasé about it. I snuck in a couple photos between tree branches.

Once we got out on the main trail again, we could have used one of those nice maps, but this time we were on our own. After a couple false starts, we found the right path and made our way back to the parking lot. Six miles, three hours, and a grand total now of 58.2 miles.

At the end of the Star Trek movie in which Spock dies, Kirk gives a nice send-off speech, which concludes with the touching phrase: “Of all the souls I’ve known, his was the most… human” (with voice cracking at the end). So to Myre Big Island park, I say this in farewell: “Of all the parks we’ve been to, yours was the most… humid.” (It’s even better if you can hear that in Kirk’s voice). Seriously though, this was a really great park!

Knee Score: 3-4; relatively even terrain, long walk (14,824 steps, 7 flights of stairs).

I’ll probably delete this in the morning.

P.S. Kris did some research and thinks the flies were caddisflies. But let’s still call them “oddflies” just for the fun of it.

Next Hike: Fort Snelling State Park

Gardens are places of hope. They are images of hope, metaphors for hope. Every time you plant a seed, you are proclaiming hope in the promise of growth. When I first started reading the Bible, I was particularly drawn to verses about hope.

“And let us hold fast the confession of our hope, for He who promised is faithful.”

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”

“I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened, that you may know the hope to which He has called you, the riches of His glorious inheritance in the saints, and His incomparably great power toward us who believe.”

When those seeds begin to emerge with new green growth, when those perennial flowers bloom again and again, year after year, remember that He who promised is faithful.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning. But not too early in the morning. I still haven’t gotten out to get that sunrise photo.

It’s bedtime and I forgot about writing a blog post today! There’s nothing else I can do, but draw upon my poetry from my angsty college days and share one. As I look through these old poems, I’m somewhat embarrassed by how awfully dramatic and tragic many of them are: sad poems about unrequited love (or at least unrequited crushes), depressing poems about being depressed, poems about fear and anxiety…you’d think I never had a happy moment. But there were also some whimsical and “artsy” poems – you can’t be angsty all the time, I guess.

Here’s a riddle poem I wrote – not terribly difficult to fathom, but as I recall, it was fun to write.

My love is mute.
He has one dimension
And two homes.
The outer wall is
Brilliant and bold,
But closer to his lined face
The inner curtain is but a frail mask,
A thin veil of protection.

To bring him to speak
Is a casual torture;
First I spin him
From the hole in his body –
Then, with a fine needle
I pierce his licorice skin
And follow concentric circles
Until he is done.
Then I flip him to his stomach
And do it over and over again.

His screams of pain
Are music to my ears.

So, yeah – definitely not brilliant. But that’s what you get when I’m late to the blogosphere.

Good night!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning. Yawn.

I’ve often been struck by the beauty of this lone tree against the backdrop of a field that I pass frequently on my walks. The eastern sky is right behind it, so a couple of months ago I had a brilliant idea (not one of my more humble statements, I admit). What if I take a photo of this tree at predawn or dawn four times a year to capture what it looks like during the four seasons at sunrise? The only flaw to the plan is that dawn gets earlier and earlier every day. And in the winter, dawn is later, but really cold. Clearly, I’m not a very dedicated photographer.

I follow an Instagram account called “bestbirdpix” and highly recommend it. One of the recent photos posted captured the very moment a kingfisher was diving into a lake, but right before entering the water. The reflection mirrored below is perfect as the two beaks meet at the surface of the water. Check it out! Anyway, the photographer took 720,000 photographs over a period of 6 years (involving a total of 4,200 hours) in order to capture that perfect shot. Something tells me a little detail like getting up early wouldn’t even register on the inconvenience scale for that guy.

Here’s the link to that shot:

https://www.instagram.com/p/CAUsiJmgi1k/?igshid=2bj634gq64zm

I really admire that level of dedication, but don’t possess it. I might be able to make myself get up really early four times a year though. That seems doable.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning. Maybe before the dawn while I’m out taking the Spring photo of my montage. We’ll see. It might be a game day decision.

P.S. Does the link work?

Beloved Crabapple
A hidden weakness
Exploited by wind and storm.
Blossoms on the ground.

I’m not sure we will be able to save the rest of our crabapple tree. Long has it cheered us with vivid pink blossoms in the spring.

I’m back to haiku, as you can see. It’s a lovely form of poetry that gives firm boundaries, but allows for beautiful freedom within those boundaries. Isn’t freedom always made more meaningful within boundaries? After my last extended haiku phase, my friend Teresa gave honor to it by contributing her own:

Enjoyed the Haiku.
Thoughts with rhythm are peaceful
Feel free to write more.

When I asked permission to share it on the blog, she cleverly replied:

Feel free to do so
As one whom I do regard
My beloved friend.

I can’t help but think that there are others of you out there with Haiku in your heads just waiting to find expression. Send them to me and I’ll share them on my blog. If you want, you can also share a photo to go with it.

Go and Haiku!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning. Possibly. There’s a small chance of it. Infinitesimally small.

I made a new friend yesterday. You may take that as literally as possible: I “made” a new friend. Her name is Betty. Formally known as Wall-Eyed Betty, she’s undergone some reconstruction and now has a certain homespun beauty about her. Things were somewhat iffy in the middle of her creation – can anyone say “scoliosis?”

Poor Betty. But in the final inning of the game, I put my rally cap on and…voila!

Isn’t she adorable?!!? Luna thought she’d make a good toy.

I was so completely taken with her that I kept taking pictures, kind of like you do with a newborn. I might be getting a little TOO obsessed with Betty.

It shouldn’t surprise you to learn that when I was a child, I read “Raggedy Ann” and “Raggedy Andy” and was completely convinced that my dolls came to life every time I left the room. I’d leave, carefully close the door and then stand there with my ear to the door listening. Occasionally, I’d open it quickly so I could catch them making their way back to their original positions. But they were too quick for me. Ah, youth.

Today, I made a friend for Betty, so they can have cozy chats while I’m out of the room. Her name is Daisy.

I’m so addicted to this now, that I might just make every pattern in the book. But don’t worry – I won’t subject you to every single photo I take along the way.

I guess you never get too old for dolls. Or should I say, some of us don’t.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning. Right after I check in on the girls and say “good morning,” to them. Wouldn’t you?

I had to do it – I couldn’t help myself. I was in a Joann’s store last week and saw a book of patterns for little felt animals and dolls and had this inward conversation:

Me: You must get this. These are adorable.

Also Me: But I probably shouldn’t.

Me: Listen up, lady. You’re a grandmother now. This is just the kind of craft you should take up in order to make cute little gifties for your granddaughter.

Also Me: Should I get it?

Me: Sigh. Just get it. You bought a bunch of felt squares at a Joann’s last year for JUST THIS KIND OF THING.

Also Me: But the book says to use only 100% wool felt – the stuff I got is made from recycled plastic. IT’LL NEVER WORK!

Me: So what? Try it out on the cheap stuff and see what happens. You ALREADY bought the felt!

Also Me: Should I?

Me: Yes!

Aren’t you glad you don’t live in my head? I bought the book and got started and can hardly wait to finish this first doll, Betty (she’s the comely lass on the left).

Other than Betty being a little wall-eyed in my version, I’m off to a great start. It turns out I shouldn’t have marked the eye placement quite yet. Fortunately, it looks like the red hood will cover those marks and I can put in better ones. Wish me luck on the arms – I’m going to need it. Unless the final result is hideous, I’ll show you how it turned out. Wait – we’re all friends here – I’ll show you what it looks like even if it’s hideous. We can enjoy a good laugh together.

I’ll probably delete this in the morning…unless I’m too busy working on Betty!