The Ballad of Michael and Betty
and Their Terra-cotta Love

When Michael first saw Betty
His eyes lit up with pleasure.
“My terra-cotta beauty!
You’ll be my life-long treasure.”

When Betty first saw Michael
With his stylish beard and mustache
She nodded with approval –
“I like a man with panache.”

And so they were together
Companions in all their hours
Romance bloomed and flourished
Like a spray of purple flowers

And when the season ended
As seasons always do
Their flowers dried and faded
But their love was always true.

I inherited these beautiful planters from my mother, who named them Michael and Betty after her sister and brother-in-law. Their season ended in the not-too-distant past, but I think their love was always true.

I’ll probably delete this when my season has ended…

Last year I spent some time practicing how to paint bluebirds. I found a couple photos on the internet, did some sketches and then painted a whole slew of them. This means I painted six, just in case you thought a “slew” ought to be a lot more than that. Anyway, when I was done doing that many, I thought I had probably mastered the bluebird and decided to paint one without doing a sketch or looking at a photo.

I can’t help but think of that song “Both Sides Now.” Remember the refrain?
I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It’s cloud illusions I recall
I really don’t know clouds at all.

So here’s my version:
I’ve looked at bluebirds from both sides now,
From up and down and still somehow,
It’s the illusion that I can paint them I recall…
I really don’t know bluebirds…at all.

But you know what? I like my primitive little bluebird – he’s got a certain pathos about him that quite appeals to me.

I’ll probably delete this post after looking at it from both sides, since I don’t think I really know it at all.

I did a fair amount of babysitting in my day, but it wasn’t my favorite thing. A young family, lived two doors down from us and used to have me babysit now and again. They only had one child,a toddler (Jimmy?). I made the mistake once of watching an episode of “Sixth Sense” after putting Jimmy to bed and when it was over, I was almost frozen with terror. I turned on most of the main floor lights and a radio and tried not to think scary thoughts.

Another time while I was there, I was having a conversation through the window with a couple neighbor boys who were asking me and my friend from next door to go to the state fair with them the following day. Be still my beating heart!! As we were talking, the parents drove up the driveway past us. I was pretty sure they’d never hire me again after discovering me idly chatting with boys while I was supposed to be devoting my every moment to little Jimmy. However, they were surprisingly nonchalant about it, although they did ask me not to repeat the offense.

A family down near the end of the other side of the block once asked me to babysit. I showed up at the appointed time and to my surprise and extreme discomfort they were still eating and in absolutely no hurry to get going. I offered to leave and come back again, but they insisted that I stay. There was a fellow there who was about 8 years older than me and he spent some time talking with me; I found him vaguely creepy and tried not to encourage the conversation. Ugh. I bet it was an hour before they finally left and they stayed out so late that I was asleep when they came home. Never again!

A couple across the street used to have me babysit as well. I was at their house chatting merrily with a friend on the phone after the kids were in bed and I absentmindedly sat down on a little end table which promptly broke under my weight. I am thoroughly ashamed to report that when the parents came home I LIED about what happened and told them I tripped and fell on the table. I tried to refuse payment in light of my transgression, but they insisted. Oh, the guilt!

One time when I was babysitting for a couple that lived farther away, a man came to the door and asked to use the phone since his car had broken down. I should never have let him in – I was uncomfortable about it but not assertive enough to tell him no. He really did just use the phone, but it could have been a very bad situation and I determined that if it happened again, I would say no.

I started getting jobs farther away because of references, but I didn’t like it when the fathers drove me home – it was awkward; they didn’t know what to say to me and the feeling was mutual. I was at a new job one night – there were several children, the oldest being in 7th grade (I was in 9th) and the youngest being 3 weeks old. I knew absolutely nothing about babies and called my mom more than once for advice (the baby won’t stop crying – what should I do?). Meanwhile, the 7th grader was perfectly capable of taking care of the baby and I finally just let him do everything. I’m not sure why they hired me when they had their son to handle things, but I suppose it gave them the illusion that someone more mature was in charge. The son must have told them how the evening went because they never asked me again.

In general, I did not like babysitting except for the money and was glad when I was old enough to get a job and could end that chapter of my life. I used to worry that maybe I was not going to enjoy being a mother because I didn’t naturally love taking care of other people’s children, but when I got married and we started a family, the worries disappeared as soon as I held our first baby in my arms. I loved being a mother and still do, even now that they are all grown. And I love being a grandmother!!

This has been Tuesday True Stories with Lynniebeemuseoday. I’d love to heard about some of your babysitting experiences. Am I the only one who didn’t love it?

I’ll probably delete this, but maybe not. I need to sit down and think about it, hopefully not breaking any furniture in the process.

Summer Haiku
Eleven photos.
Mid-summer Minnesota.
Much better than words.

I’m not known for brevity, so enjoy this departure from my usual multitude of words.

I’ll probably delete these mid-summer photos mid-morning.

Fig Newton sat on the Lucky Lucy as it floated, anchored near the shore. Miss Agra and her companion Grimpus Leatherfoot had gone hunting blueberries and Fig was enjoying his solitude. He held a pencil in his webbed hand and alternated between staring out at the sky, closing his eyes in thought, and jotting down some froggie ideas for the list he was making. When he was done, he read it out loud:

Ten Things I Will Need to See and Do Before Returning Home

1. Perform an act of derring do. (Fig was pleased with being able to use that phrase and hoped that when the time came, he’d know it).

2. Save a memento from every stop to remind me of my journey. I won’t turn around until I have 12 of them at least.

3. Take the Lucky Lucy out on the open sea.

4. Battle a sea monster.

5. See the Magical Lily Pad Pond. (Fig hoped this was a real place, and not just a rumor)

6. Go on a quest with someone of like-minded spirit to find and/or accomplish something important.

7. Sneak into and out of a castle (or something like one) without being detected by people. (He knew this was risky – people were so unpredictable when it came to frog-kind.)

8. Hear a concert given by the Matchless Froggy Chorus.

9. Win a leap-frog contest.

10. Find Mrs. Newton.

Fig thought long and hard about this last item, but realized that with all of his desire for adventure and travel, in the end he wanted his own lily pad, a frog lady with whom to share it, and a bunch of tadpoles to whom he could tell his stories and raise up to take his place.

He posted the list on the boat, ate a fly that had landed on his oar, and took a nap.

I went through all sorts of iterations of that illustration, starting with a complicated version with Figgy in his boat which made me realize I needed to simplify it drastically in order to match the drawing with my level of skill. Then I did some sketches.

Drawing a frog holding a pencil and paper was not simple, but it was easier once I left out all the other background stuff.

Figgy Fiction Friday has been brought to you by Lynniebeemuseoday.

Fig Newton Part 1
Fig Newton Part 2
Fig Newton Part 3
Fig Newton Part 5

And now it’s time for me to post this blog, eat a fly and take a nap. Maybe I’ll delete it when I wake up.

Previous: Grave Musings 8 Evergreen

What is a cemetery after all, but a gathering of names etched on stone? And unless you know the names and their stories, you will walk by without understanding. This was my experience on a recent expedition with two friends to hunt for the names from the Sea Wing disaster of 1890.

I’m willing to bet that all of you have heard of the sinking of the Titanic. But did you know about Minnesota’s “Titanic?” I didn’t. Allow me to fill you in.

On a sweltering hot Sunday in July of 1890, Captain David Wethern and his crew boarded a steamer named Sea Wing in Diamond Bluffs, Wisconsin, to take her out for a pleasure cruise to Lake City, Minnesota, picking up passengers along the way. It was the event of the season! She was towing a barge, the Jim Grant, upon which a band would play, adding to the festive atmosphere. The Sea Wing picked up 22 passengers in Trenton and over a hundred in Red Wing. Counting captain, crew, band members and passengers, she was carrying some 200 people, most of whom had been anticipating this pleasure cruise as a way to escape the beastly heat. The only fly in the ointment was a traveling preacher named Georgas who had spent the last couple days traveling about warning people that the Sea Wing would meet with a terrible storm upon the waters and that lives would be lost. A few people were unnerved enough to return their tickets, but the rest either didn’t hear the warning or didn’t believe the man.

The Sea Wing stopped at Lake City around 11:30 a.m. where everyone got off and enjoyed the entertainments provided by the Minnesota National Guard encamped there. In spite of the heavy, sticky weather, the people of Lake City had gone all out with a band, lemonade, popcorn and ice cream stands. The Sea Wing was due to leave Lake City at 6:00 p.m, but stayed later so everyone could finish watching the military exercises which concluded with a parade. However, unbeknownst to the captain, tornados were touching down in northern St. Paul and would be part of a nasty storm system that was making its way to the open waters on Lake Pepin. By 5:00 p.m. in Lake City it was looking like thunderstorms coming from the north. Before long, they experienced a rain squall that sent everyone for shelter in the National Guard encampment. A few young women found refuge in a tent and were in such a merry mood they lost track of the time and by the time they went back out, the Sea Wing had left without them at 8:00 p.m, much to their dismay. The rain had let up and the Captain Wethern believed the storm was largely over, a disastrous miscalculation. Others were quite uneasy, seeing the looming clouds as signs of more bad weather to come.

As the sky grew more ominous, one young man decided he’d better take his fate into his own hands. Charlie Sewall cried out “goodbye, boys!” and jumped off the barge, swimming 300 feet or more to the shore. The Sea Wing continued on her course northward and the oncoming storm began to buffet the boat with strong gusts of wind. The Sea Wing was rolling and swaying causing a lot of strain on the ropes holding the barge to the boat. Due to heavy winds and rain, as well as the rolling of the boat, most of the women and children were led to the cabin on the Sea Wing for shelter, another disastrous decision. Some felt that the barge was making it more difficult for the Sea Wing to stabilize. Others thought that the barge was the only thing keeping the top-heavy Sea Wing from capsizing. Amidst discussions about whether or not to separate the boats, a sudden tremendous squall kicked up, overturning the Sea Wing completely while those on the barge watched in horror. No one made it out of that cabin on the Sea Wing and many more on the boat and the barge lost their lives during the violent storm. Of the 57 female passengers, 50 drowned, and of 156 males (including crew), 48 died in those waters.

The captain was at the wheel in the pilothouse when the boat flipped over and had to break out by pushing the window out. He lived, but faced scathing criticisms for the decisions he made that day, including false accusations that he was drunk when they left Lake City. But Captain Wethern also had a lot at stake: his wife and two young sons were aboard the Sea Wing (one of his sons miraculously survived, having left the cabin shortly before the boat went over and was saved by a crew member). He certainly paid dearly for his miscalculations and lack of judgment. If you want to read an excellent book on this catastrophe to get more details, I commend the book The Sea Wing Disaster, by Frederick L. Johnson.

Most of the victims were from Red Wing, Minnesota, and were buried in several cemeteries around town and it was to a few of these cemeteries that we went on July 1, 2021 to find those who had perished on Lake Pepin on July 13, 1890. Alas, I had not read the book ahead of time and so while the three of us went from marker to marker, the names were still only names to me. Teresa had brought a dozen roses and laid them thoughtfully on many of the gravestones that we found, in remembrance of those lives, still not forgotten. Lori and Teresa both had copies of the above book, marked and flagged on pages that contained burial information. Teresa had done some research on the Find-A-Grave website and had printed out copies of names associated with each cemetery for all three of us to use as we walked around. I took photos, but the names didn’t mean for me then what they mean now that I’ve learned their stories.

Join us as we chase the Sea Wing and seek out the names of those who died that day. I’ll offer short context under photos of some of the gravestones.

Our first stop was St. John’s Lutheran Cemetery.

It was a hot, sweltering day, not unlike the day of the Sea Wing disaster in 1890.

Peter Gerken was a 45-year-old saloonkeeper, who went out on the Sea Wing with his wife Maria and all five of their children. The whole family perished.

Sophia Schulenberg, 40 years old, along with children Henry, 11, and Minna, 7 were among those who died. Husband and father Christ Schulenberg lost his wife, 2 young children and an older daughter Johanna Humbert on the Sea Wing. Johanna was 23 years old and had been recently widowed.

Mary Hempftling, 43, perished, along with son Frederick, 19 and daughter Lizzie, 17. Mary’s nephew Herman Hempftling and his wife Mary (24 and 21) were also among the dead.

Fred Hattemer, 25, died on his 25th birthday. He was aboard the Sea Wing with his fiancee Annie Schneider, whose body was found in the Sea Wing’s cabin.

We went on from St. John’s to Calvary Cemetery.

We had a bit of good fortune at Calvary. The man who was mowing the lawn there noticed our wandering and asked if he could help us find anyone. It turned out that he was well acquainted with the story of the Sea Wing and so was able to lead us to each gravesite.

Annie Staiger, 20, and her younger sister Frances, 18, were on board the Sea Wing with gentlemen friends Frank Lampman and Ed Stevens. The Staiger sisters weren’t in the cabin of the boat, but neither could swim. Their boyfriends tried to tow them to safety but could not keep a grip on them in the turbulent water.

Julia Persig, 29, and sister Anna, 26 were on the Sea Wing with their beaus.

Katie Burkhard, 20, was traveling with a friend, Eliza Crawford, 27, who also perished.

Ed Schenach was a 25-year-old stonecutter from Red Wing that also played a big bass viol and was hired to play in the band on the barge, the Jim Grant. He survived the accident, and it’s said that his bass viol saved his life since it kept him afloat while he made his way to shore. What stories he had to tell his children and grandchildren! He lived to be 97 years old.

We left Calvary Cemetery and made our way to Oakwood Cemetery where we enjoyed a nice picnic in the shade.

By the time we finished our lunch, it was getting close to time for me to leave, so I just took a few random photos.

Have I converted any of you yet to become cemetery enthusiasts? I’m indebted to friends Teresa and Lori for doing all the legwork in research before our day in Red Wing.

Thanks for coming along and making it through this very long post!

Next: Grave Musings 10 Denison Cemetery

Start at the beginning: Grave Musings 1 Maple Lawn I

I’ll probably climb aboard the pleasure ship Lynniebeemuseoday for a cruise in the morning – all aboard!

Toscana is what we call Tuscany, a region in central Italy, and this week’s painting is from a photograph taken in that region.

And here is the artists’ painting from that photograph:

Already, I like the way they have lightened it up and made the colors more vivid. I had some trouble the first time around understanding which were the olive trees, but after some thought, decided they must be the stand of largish-looking bushes in the foreground on the left. Here’s how my two attempts turned out:

I’m not going to tell you all the stuff I don’t like about these because that will draw your attention to those features. Best to let you experience it without my overly critical eye casting a pall over it.

Here’s a question I was pondering today: What makes someone an “artist?” If anyone asked me if I’m an artist, I would not give a straightforward “yes,” but I’m not sure why. It seems like there should be more involved in claiming that title than merely doing artwork, but I also don’t think it means necessarily that an artist is one who gets paid for their work. I just checked in with Professor Google and this is what he says: “Artist: a person who practices or is skilled in an art, especially painting, drawing or sculpture; a person who displays in his work qualities required in art, such as sensibility and imagination.” Well, I’m not sure about that last part, but there you have it.

I’ll probably delete this with artistic flourish in the morning.

We were in Italy for a few days some years ago – a grand adventure! We were walking around Genoa one day near the port and I sought rest and shade under a tree while Kris was investigating something. When he rejoined me, he mentioned that some guy had tried to give him a little carved item, which he had to refuse several times. That seemed mystifying and we joked about how it was probably some sort of hidden drug cache that he’d track to our home town to reclaim.

We walked farther on down the port and while Kris went over to look at a large reproduction of an old ship, he was approached by another man trying to give away a little carved item. Kris refused a few times but this guy was more persistent and managed to find out that Kris spoke English. Kris was making his getaway to return to where I was when the fatal mistake occurred: the man turned around and saw me.

“Oh, is that your wife?” He said cheerily, and you could almost see the thought bubble forming over his head, saying “I have found the weak link!” He came over and pressed a small wooden elephant in my palm, saying “This is a gift for you – I am just giving it away today. I am from Kenya and we are here raising money for our country, but today is our last day and I am just going to give this to you.” I was a little dumbfounded, but said thank you, uncertainly.

He then pressed a small wooden turtle into Kris’s palm with the same speech. We were trying to make the best of an awkward situation, but didn’t really want to take these “gifts.” He asked where we were from and when we told him the United States, he beamed with pleasure. “Oh, I love America! I live in New York and love it there!” He was all smiles and pleasantness. “Yesterday I was selling these for 35 euro each, but today because it is our last day, I give them to you free. No charge. Do you have children?”

This was an abrupt change of topic, but we said yes, and this sent him into another frenzy of activity with little decorative strings that he tied around our wrists with a strange ritual involving each of us blowing on the string, kissing each other and then him tying it on. Awkward! How do we get out of here? He reassured us many, many times that all of this largesse was absolutely no charge, just out of the kindness of his heart. We were getting restless and trying to move away when the other shoe dropped.

He got out a third carved item and said, “And now I give you this last item, no charge, but if you could give us something, anything, to help our country we would appreciate it. It doesn’t matter how much – anything will help.”

I was desperate to get out of his clutches at this point and began to open my purse, thinking it would be easiest to give him 5 euros as a fee for letting us go. But Kris stepped in firmly, taking the harder but better route of refusal, stating that we weren’t going to take the items since it now obligated us to give, rather than making our giving be something we chose to do freely. He was nonplussed and continued to look cheerful, saying, “Don’t be vexed with me – these are gifts, no charge, no obligation. Just give whatever you want, no matter how much!” Kris eventually took all three carved items and placed them carefully in the man’s palm. The man looked at me, as if to say, “Are you really going to let him do this?” but we broke free at last. That guy was a master of his trade!

We were to discover that peddlers trying to sell things to tourists were everywhere in this fair country. A couple days later we were on the beach in Bordighera, our one time to sit at a beach and relax. Naturally, as soon as we got situated, an endless parade of beach vendors added us to their route. They were selling things like jewelry, towels, mats or books. In an hour and a half, I had five of them stop by. Here’s how a typical interaction with them went:

Man: *many Italian words* spoken while showing his wares.
Me: (they never approached Kris, of course): No, grazie.
Man: *more Italian words.*
Me: No, grazie.
Man: *many more Italian words* as if the words, “No grazie,” were to be interpreted as “please continue.”
Me: No, grazie.

It usually took about four or five “No grazies” to bring about an end to the conversation. One man had set out two or three of his beautiful mats in front of me and when he’d finally accepted the idea that I wasn’t going to be buying them, he spent 5 minutes at the foot of my chair slowly and carefully folding them up and putting them back over his shoulder in silent reproach, perhaps in a last attempt to get a sympathy purchase. I have to say, I admired their persistence.

This has been Tuesday True Stories brought to you by Lynniebeemuseoday.

I’ll probably sell this to you in the morning. What’s that you say? “No grazie?”

The 2021 Hiking Club season continues! We have been wanting to conquer the four state parks up on the St. Croix River: William O’Brien (WOB), Interstate, Wild River and St. Croix. We made tentative plans to hike Interstate on an afternoon, camp at WOB that night and tackle the 6-mile hike at WOB early the next morning. The afternoon we chose turned out to have a high of 95 degrees. No thank you! So we scrapped the hike at Interstate, but went on to camp at WOB that evening because the next day was going to be cooler.

We had a nice campsite at WOB. Our next-door neighbors had a cute little boy who threw a few loud temper tantrums, but he settled down nicely at mid-evening and it appeared all systems were “go” for a good night’s sleep (you can detect the ominous foreshadowing in those words, can’t you?).

Well, we never heard another peep from the little boy, but a woman at a campsite near to ours decided that 11:00 p.m. was a perfect time for a nice long gab with someone on the phone and she did not keep her voice down either. Kris had dropped off already, so I was the only one being kept awake. Every once in a while, she’d say, “Well, I should get going now…” and I’d think “At last! She’s getting off the phone!” But it turned out to be a Minnesota goodbye and the conversation continued.

Finally, I got up and stalked over there and said, “Could you PLEASE keep it quiet?!” Ha ha – of course I did no such thing. I entertained the idea quite a few times, but I could never see it ending well, so I tried to ignore our chatty camper (unsuccessfully). Eventually, her prelude to saying goodbye actually came to fruition and the phone conversation ended. Ahh…sweet silence. For about 2 minutes. And then she struck up a loud conversation with a fellow camper. As Charlie Brown would say, “AUGHHHHH!” I’m not one to suffer in silence, am I? I’m finding a strange pleasure in making you go through this with me. Even Chatty Camper couldn’t keep it up all night and I managed to get some sleep after all.

William O’Brien was what used to be called a “lumber baron,” which I think just means he was in the lumber business and not the one of the ones laboring at cutting down trees. When the lumber companies had cut down most of the white pines in the area, he bought up a lot of that land for his personal estate. In 1945, his daughter Alice donated 180 acres along the riverfront to the state and that became WOB State Park. That’s enough of the history lesson. On with the hike.

The hike description contained the words “a spectacular view of the St. Croix River Valley [is] your reward for making it to the top of the hill,” which I took to be a sign that my hiking poles would be required equipment on this hike. Our weather apps told us that some rain might be coming mid-morning, so we set a goal of leaving at 6:30 a.m. and made it onto the trail by 6:50. Not bad.

I had brought my camera, but forgot the harness so I decided to leave the camera behind and just use my phone for taking photos. I was 30% sad about that and 70% glad not to have to carry the camera on such a long hike in humid weather where we might encounter rain.

The hiking club trail at WOB was wide and well-groomed for the whole six miles, so they get a big thumbs up for that. Also, they had very good signage, another feature that not all parks share.

In spite of the cool 69 degrees, it was an extra special kind of humid that morning, the kind that feels like an invisible heaviness in the air. We started off at a pretty fast pace, motivated in part by the desire not to get caught in a downpour. The other motivation was the devil nipping at our heels in the form of some kind of flies that kept up a steady swarm around us. Kris was inspired to make up a Latin-like name for them: flyus annoyus. They seemed particularly interested in the back of Kris’s sweaty neck, so he took to calling them “sweat flies.” After one bit me on the hand, I broke down and gave myself a little DEET shower to keep them away. Kris took longer to break down, but he got there eventually. When we stopped to get a good look at them we realized they were deer flies, which no doubt were with the mosquitos on Satan’s back as he entered the Garden of Eden.

But enough about that! We went through a wetlands area, followed by trails surrounded by hardwoods, and eventually got to the prairie lands on a loop trail that led us to the top of Wedge Hill where we could indeed be rewarded with a little sit-down to enjoy the view. I took some notes for this post and also took advantage of the moment to throw some water on my sweaty face.

There was a fair amount of up and down while coming down the hill and finishing the loop. I took a short break to catch my breath.

Shortly after we got off the loop, it started to rain, but not heavily. It felt good, actually.

We saw a lot of bluebird houses, most of which were facing the fields. At some point, we began seeing them facing the trail instead. These were undoubtedly for the more extroverted birds, who could be counted upon (when home) to come out and chat us up a bit, while encouraging us along the way (“not much longer now!”). None of them were home, unfortunately.

We were back in the wetlands now and saw evidence that beavers were amongst us. Not long after that, we saw their lodge, an architectural masterpiece. The architects did not make an appearance.

When we saw the visitor center, we knew we were close to the end.

That’s where the hike normally starts and ends, but our campsite was very near the trail, so we just started from there. I saw a map at the visitor center that claimed that the Hiking Club trail was only 5.3 miles instead of the 6 miles that it says in our Hiking Club book. Perhaps that’s true, but I wrote 6 miles in the book. I won’t tell if you won’t tell.

The hiking poles performed well.

Knee score: 7 out of 10. Long hike, nice trails, but a fair amount of up and down. My phone says it was the equivalent of 14 flights of stairs.

I should mention that WOB has a nice swimming beach on Lake Alice, should you decide you want to make a trip there. Bring your swimming suit!

I’ll probably delete this in the morning, wishing that deer flies weren’t a part of this world.

Next hike: Interstate State Park

Here’s another story I started quite awhile ago – it’s an enigma to me and I’m not exactly sure where I was going with it. I didn’t get very far – only a short prologue and two sentences of Chapter One. This would get a failing grade in a creative writing class, but maybe typing it out here will get me thinking more deeply about it. Or I might shove it into the nearest abyss and say, “Good riddance!”

PROLOGUE

Why must I always be destined to see the Gravel before anyone else does? Some people say it is a gift, but I think it is more of a curse. The sky is so full of beautiful lankness; Gravel is dark and gritty and ruinous. When did I begin to notice it? When did the nightmares start?

My mother says that I could always see what others could not. But how does she know? My life is a question. He who formed me knows the answer, but I find that He usually does not make it easy for me to find.

I do know that mirrors and reflective surfaces have been like secret watchers. I don’t remember a time when that wasn’t so. In fact, I used to run past them to avoid their intruding stare. If I can see myself in that strange shininess, then someone else must be looking at me too.

Is it any wonder that I long to be normal?

My life is a question.

CHAPTER ONE

He called me early on. It seems that there was never a time when I did not hear His voice.

What on earth was I thinking when I made up the word “lankness?” So, be honest with me. Is there potential or is this a non-starter?

I’ll probably either tuck this one away for the future or cast it away as far as the east is from the west. Oh, and this will happen in the morning, as usual.

What can one basket contain?
So little, so much.
First fruits, a small harvest
Until you see the unseen bounty –
The promise of more to come
Warming in the sun,
Feel-good greens and shout-for-joy reds,
All full of crunch, sass and sparkle.

We planted, we watered,
But God gave the increase-
Grace upon grace upon grace.

I’ll probably delete this verse when the sun gives up shining and the seeds no longer burst out of their armor to show you the magic of conjuring up fruit from almost nothing which they learned from the One who made everything ex nihilo.