Select Page
One Fox, Two Fox, Old Fox, New Fox

One Fox, Two Fox, Old Fox, New Fox

IMG_1507

My, I was surprised yesterday morning to glance out the living room window and see a fox trotting across the yard. Who knows what drew the critter–the first of it’s kind seen on our property in the 21 years we’ve lived here–to grace our snow covered lawn with it’s dainty feet. Perhaps the fox is as enamored with Hiram’s cross country ski trail as the squirrels are. Those bushy-tailed rodents zip down the man of steel’s carefully groomed trails like they’re on the interstate.

But I digress.

Back to yesterday morning’s bushy-tailed non-rodent. The fox. It was trotting toward the edge of the yard at an impressive pace, but just as I grabbed the camera, our visitor struck a majestic pose. I managed a few shots through the window–hence the blur created by the screen–and then followed my model’s gaze to see what it was staring at.

It was another fox.

Just as big as the first, but quicker on its feet. Much quicker. Frisky. Really frisky. Like I-just-got-wheels-and-you-can’t-stop-me teenager frisky. So frisky that when I swung my camera to digitally capture the visitor’s image, this is what I got.

IMG_1508

Like I said. Frisky.

The more sedate older fox, who gave the distinct impression of the tired parent of an impulsive teen, joined its frisky counterpart, and they rounded the side of the house. By the time I made it to the dining room and looked outside, the foxes were on the far side of the hedge. They crossed our driveway without looking both ways, slipped through the fence, and disappeared into the neighbors trees.

Easy come. Easy go.

I put the camera away, thankful for the pictures I’d taken. Thankful to be inside on a winter day instead of outside trotting across the snow. Thankful I’m no longer the tired parent of teenagers. Thankful for the unexpected beauty of one fox, two fox, old fox, new fox on a winter day.

Thankful.

Worth It

Worth It

When I walked by my flower beds yesterday, the creeping Charlie had a stranglehold on a favorite clematis. The dandelions winked their yellow eyes. “Two more days, and we’ll blow seeds everywhere,” they taunted

My original plan had been to wait for a good, soaking rain and then attack the weeds. But the five day forecast sad no rain for a few more days, and my flowers didn’t look like they could hold on that long.

So yesterday afternoon, after a quick lunch and before talking myself into a nap, I pulled on the gardening gloves and got busy. Thankfully, Hiram grabbed the wheelbarrow and picked up the weeds as I grubbed them out of the dirt.

The weather was perfect. The ground, however, was uncooperative at best and iron hard at worst. Before long, my shoulders ached.  From the protests my leg muscles made, they must have spent winter lounging on the beach in Florida while the rest of me exercised and walked outside in the cold.

The top of Hiram’s bald head got redder by the minute. Every muscle in my body whispered, “It’s Sunday afternoon. Time for a nap. You better quit. You’re too old for this. Give up and go inside.”

But we slaved away, motivated by the need to stay ahead of the gardening this spring and summer, at least until after Anne’s wedding in our yard on July 11.

When I rolled out of bed this morning, the aches and pains weren’t too bad, but they crept up on me during my morning walk. By the time I neared the house, I felt like an old, grouchy mother-in-law and a muttery mother of the bride.

Why did we say Anne could get married under our oak tree??How will we keep up with the yard work until July 11??Why are we such saps??What were we thinking?
What were we thinking?
What were we thinking?

Then the bleeding hearts came into view, one red and one white. Their transient loveliness, nestled in a corner flower bed, spoke blessing and family and home to me.

My shoulders still ached. My legs still screamed their insults.

But I could see my daughter in a white gown, walking on the lawn to meet her sweetheart under the oak tree we planted when she was a little girl. The shady spot spoke blessing and family and home to her and her new husband. That’s what we were thinking when we said yes.

The aches and pains are worth it.

Three Fawns

Three Fawns

The other night, while Anne and I were watching a movie, she whispered, “There’s a deer in the yard.” But there wasn’t just one deer. There were four: a doe and three fawns. I grabbed my camera and took pictures of them without the flash, so the photo is a bit blurry, but I didn’t want to scare them away. All the movement frightened them anyway, and one, two, three, four, the doe and her fawns slipped through an opening in the hedge and disappeared.

Either the doe was a siren last spring or she’s babysitting for the neighbors because the fawns were stair steps in height. They were beautiful and graceful and still sported spots. Hiram and I saw them again, hiding in the neighbor’s spruce trees just west of our driveway, when we walked Thursday morning.

The last time we saw a fawn in the yard was the morning after we moved into this house, back in May of 1991. Mom and Allen camped in the living room and saw a doe and fawn outside the east window when they woke up.

Certainly other does and fawns have meandered across our lawn in the intervening years. Since we saw the triplets I’ve been wondering how many deer families I missed because I forgot to look outside. How many times has busyness blinded me to beauty? For the last few days, as I work around the house, I’ve been reminding myself to look outside.

I haven’t seen anything yet, but someday I will.