Sorry, no new pictures today. Pumpkin from a couple of years ago. |
We have had a couple of really nice days. They have been so nice and cool and make me long for sweatshirts, late afternoon coffee on the patio. A good book and a roaring fire to stare at with the winds knocking at the door. This has been a long hot summer. Even for us.
I have to tell you about this Blue Jay. While I mean no disrespect, I call him Mr. Millennium. The reason being one day he was sitting on the patio on the back of a chair, yelling his head off. I stopped, trying to figure why he was yelling. As I stood there I realized he was a baby, because his feathers on his head was still all pin feather though every where else was nicely feathered out. The blue jays fly to the patio table and grab a bit of cat food and fly off. Mr. Millennium was sitting on a chair yelling his head off for his parents to come fly down and put the food into his mouth. So now you know his name. Oh, by the way, after a little while he got it that no one was going to feed him and he hopped over filled his beak just as full as he could get it while complaining and flew off.
It is September and the almond orchards are shaking the trees to harvest the crops. If there is one job I wish I could have it would be shaking almond trees on one of those contraptions. It just makes me laugh to watch them.
That video makes me laugh too. The dust is terrible right now. I can't wait until we get rain, but I bet it rains mud.
I can open the doors and windows today, so it will be a wool dye day. Not just Friday. October is just around the corner too. Don't you just love Fall?
I wish you a lovely weekend,
~Kim~
Jane Austen
“Her pleasure in the walk must arise from the exercise and the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year upon the tawny leaves and withered hedges, and from repeating to herself some few of the thousand poetical descriptions extant of autumn--that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness--that season which has drawn from every poet worthy of being read some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling.”