Sunday, July 14, 2019

HOME



"Pale shafts of early morning sunlight filtered through the pines, tickling my eyelids ever so slightly and causing me just enough discomfort to rouse myself from the mattress where we had fallen in an exhausted heap the night before.

The presence of early morning light, however dim, was oddly disorienting after six months of somewhat subterranean dwelling. After a brief moment of utter confusion, I remembered that this was where I was.

THIS WAS HOME!

Leaving Tom still sleeping in the still darkened room, I headed for the kitchen where I hoped to find everything to make that all-important first cup of coffee. I could only hope I’d remembered all the essentials in our mad dash across the county the day before. But, as I turned the knob to quietly close the bedroom door, I was struck by the significance of simply shutting the door. I shut the door. I admit, I stopped and gave thanks for that door. And the doorknob.

For six months we had no door, no interior walls; we had no privacy whatsoever. Our temporary home in my parents’ basement was one fairly large, but completely open room, dissected by the stairs that led to their living space above. It was ours free of charge for the duration with one caveat…no permanent changes. With no interior divisions, any “rooms” came from some creative furniture arrangement. One corner was divided off for the girls’ shared bedroom by creating a “wall” out of bookcases and dressers. There was a kitchen space at the other end as well as a bathroom in the corner. We hung a quilt to serve as a wall at the bottom of the stairs, screening the light from the bottom of the stairs and the kitchen. That way we could at least watch television after the children’s bedtime. Otherwise, everyone would have had to go to bed at the same time. The kitchen was small and cramped and mice were a constant issue. When we first arrived, there was no sink and we washed the dishes in the bathtub. And, there isn’t much I can say about 4 people sharing one bathroom.  To top it off, the only way to their garage storage was down the stairs and through the basement, so “visitors” were always a possibility as my parents went to feed their dog. There was never a threat of being alone, although the loneliness I felt was overwhelming.

In addition, there was just one small window up near the ceiling. This window was at ground level on the outside so all you could see was earth. If you looked straight up, you could catch a glimpse of a tiny patch of sky. There was no way to gauge the weather without actually going outdoors. It could be dark and oppressive unless you turned on every single light fixture. And, that was certain to warrant some sort of complaint as electricity usage became an issue.

To say this was less than ideal would have been an understatement. But, we went in with our eyes wide open because it was supposed to be temporary. And, you can endure anything for a short time when you think that the fulfillment of a lifelong dream is within reach.

But, when everything changed with my father’s outburst in the Florida room that day and the basement apartment began to feel like a prison. We began to refer to it as “the dungeon”. Suddenly it felt smaller and darker, stifling in its oppression.

Everything we did (or didn’t do) came under constant scrutiny. The children were too loud in the house, but it was preferred that they not play in the yard. Tom’s work ethic was questioned as well as my own housekeeping practices. And the laundry became a bone of contention and the bane of my existence. If I did the laundry when anyone was home, he complained that I ran the dryer for the entire day. If I waited until no one was home, he insisted that I should come upstairs and visit once in a while. By the end, the situation was completely untenable, and the relationship strained and awkward.

But, we had survived it all. The horror, the heartbreak, the stress of construction was all in the past.  I kept reminding myself of this fact.

In time none of it would matter…the important thing was…We were HOME!

Finding the coffee essentials and mentally praising myself for my foresight, I set the coffee to brewing and looked around this house that we had created. A sense of peace washed over me.

Once the coffee finished brewing, I headed for the front porch. The dog roused when I went out, as if sensing that something, everything, was now different. She and I sat in companionable silence, savoring the early morning by watching the world awaken and I reveled in the first light without waking the rest of the family. I wanted to soak in the quiet stillness of this morning before we jumped into what promised to be another busy day of hard work. I thought of my sleeping family inside. I had no way of knowing if the hard times were completely over (are they ever?) but I knew in my heart of hearts that no matter what happened, we would get through it…together.

From our vantage point high on the hill, I could look down to the creek and the road beyond, I could see the neighbors’ backyard gardens and cows grazing across the way. It was peaceful and quiet, offering the perfect place to think over the events of the past and consider the future.

The building inspector had given his final approval the previous afternoon. The workers had collected their tools and were long gone. Tom gave the contractor that final check and in return, he had released all liens against the property. Somehow, after the heartache and worries of the past six months, it all seemed incredibly anticlimactic.

As the contractor examined his check before folding it and putting it in his pocket, he looked at me quizzically, “so…Barbara, are you happy now? I did what I said I’d do. 120 days…we did it in 120 days.” he looked at me rather pointedly as he awaited my answer.

I couldn’t disagree with his assertion. He had done it in 120 days. That might be some sort of construction record. He was indeed a man of his word. And, I admit it, I had most definitely had my fair share of doubts. Serious doubts. But, happy? Was I happy? Could happiness exist in the current circumstances? Again, I had my doubts. But, I was relieved. I was grateful. Although he knew our story better than most, he still couldn’t possibly understand and there was no way to ever explain. My heart had shattered into a million teeny, tiny pieces on that awful February day and I still couldn’t bring myself to think about what had happened; it was just too hard. To top it off, I was most uncertain about what the future might hold. Truth be told, I was worried and stressed and more than a little scared…but…happy? Pretty sure what I was feeling wasn't happy. But, what to say? His eyes bored into me as he waited for an answer. Figuring less is more sometimes, I thanked him for keeping his promise leaving the rest unsaid. There would be time for soul searching later.

I suppose that satisfied him, because he hopped in his big dually and headed off to the next project without so much as a backward glance. But his question would stick with me long afterward…was I happy? I honestly didn’t know if I could ever be truly happy ever again, from time to time the grief and heartbreak seemed too much to bear, but that was a problem for another time. There was far too much work to do to spend any time lost in contemplation and sad regrets.

As soon as he left, we rounded up the children and headed back to “the dungeon” to gather the essentials for our first overnight stay in our new home. Our Home!

After feeling like we were in a holding pattern for weeks, the  real adventure had begun. We were going to treat the past six months as a bump in the road, a small hiccup, a slight detour, nothing more. We had somehow survived the tragedy, the horror and the heartache. It was time to get going on the plan. Do this thing. Make it happen.

Mattresses, the kitchen table, some chairs and that all important coffee pot. We crammed as much in the trailer as was humanly possible. We would come back for the rest later, but for now, all that mattered was getting HOME.

A glance at the sky revealed the very real possibility of yet another challenge. Big, black, ominous clouds were forming in the west. Because, what would a July afternoon be without the chance of a thunderstorm? Watching the storm clouds build along the ridge of the Alleghenies, we could only hope that our belongings wouldn’t get inundated on the 25-mile trip across the county. Because once we were loaded, there wasn’t much we could do besides hope, pray…and drive.

25 miles may seem a short distance, for many folks it is part and parcel of a daily commute. But, this particular drive was the trip of a lifetime. A fresh start, a new home and a completely different life. A lot was riding on this trip. And, the impending thunderstorm certainly added to the intensity.

With the dog tucked into the camper cap on the back of the pickup, we hurried down the still unfamiliar twists and turns of Scenic Highway. The beauty of the trip completely lost on me as I worried over the trailer load with every bump and turn. I kept trying to watch the sky out the windshield while checking the load in the rearview mirror. It is a wonder I didn’t end up dislocating my neck.

The plan was to pick up some supper at the only fast food restaurant between here and there. Unfortunately, FAST is a complete misnomer when it comes to this particular establishment.  It took them forever to fill the order and tempers were beginning to fray as the clouds built even higher. The dog growled and barked the entire time we waited. The children were cranky, and we were all well on our way to being overcome by some sort of “hangry” meltdown.

With an eye on the menacing clouds, we made the decision to drive first and eat later. I have no idea why we didn’t consider munching during the trip. Driving with fresh French fries that one cannot eat is somewhat akin to torture to small children, not to mention their frazzled parents. For this (and a good many other things) I owe my children a much belated apology.

Finally, we began the ascent to the hill. That turn into the drive should have been a triumph. We should have stopped and given thanks, let out a cheer, sung the Hallelujah chorus, or at least acknowledged the end of the ordeal in some way. However, we had not yet won the race with the thunderstorm, so any sort of celebration was out of the question. Everyone piled out and got to work, keeping one eye on the impending storm.

Everything was unceremoniously dumped in the living room floor prior to sitting to eat the soggy supper. Even the new microwave couldn’t salvage those sad French fries and the limp hamburgers. But, we got everything in the house before the first rain drop fell. At which point the heavens opened. While the first meal in our new home was less than stellar, it served its purpose. The family was fed. We hauled mattresses and blankets up the stairs. The girls were tentatively settled in their respective bedrooms, the dog secured to the front porch, and showers taken, at which point we all fell into exhausted sleep.

My last coherent thought before I drifted off was: “We made it! We are finally HOME.” We had survived facing a horrible, hurtful situation. Together. They say that tragedies and hard times either make you or break you as a couple, as a family. For better or worse, here we were, still together. Tomorrow would be a whole new day. A new life.

And, now I was drinking coffee with the dog high on our hill in Middlebrook, savoring the beautiful inspiration that is early morning.

This wasn’t what we planned. It certainly wasn’t what we expected. But, here we were. We could make this new version of our plan work. I knew we could. However, the contractor’s question remained unanswered. Was I happy? I honestly had no idea. I hadn’t taken the time to unpack our belongings and settle into a new routine. I didn’t even want to consider how long it would take me to make sense of my tangled emotions and mend my broken heart. Purposefully tucking the painful memories away for some other time, I began to daydream about our new life.

Our original plan of a homestead complete with garden, livestock and a home business was still a viable option. The location may have been different, but the dream remained the same. We knew how to raise our own food and could be fairly self-sufficient. We had dramatically down-sized and eliminated all our debt. For additional income, Tom was going to start a woodworking business. He is a talented craftsman, having taught himself the finer points of woodworking and built much of our own furniture. He had inherited tools from my Granddaddy’s upholstery business, so it seemed a matter of time before he could get his shop set up in the garage. That small home business would provide for our few monetary needs as well as offer him a creative outlet.

We envisioned and idyllic life for our daughters. Schooled at home, they would have ample opportunity for play and exploration, learning important life skills by actually doing things, not just hearing about them. They would have their own animals either for pleasure or profit and learn the skills involved with animal husbandry.

I saw myself following in the footsteps of a traditional pioneer wife. Teaching the children, tending the garden, preserving food, sewing, quilting. Uncomplicated but fulfilling, I could see it all in my mind’s eye. Tom had already made arrangements to purchase the milk cow I had always dreamed of having.

Looking forward we saw a future of satisfying work, deep familial and community ties and pleasant experiences and memories that would last our children a lifetime. These hopes and dreams were enough to make up for the disappointments of the past. Possibilities abound as the dew on the grass shimmers in the early morning light and those rose-colored glasses made it all seem so easily attainable.

As I sat contemplating the future, it suddenly occurred to me that if I could see the neighbors, they could see me. And, my bathrobe and unkempt hair wouldn’t make the best first impression. Besides my coffee was cold. I headed back inside, leaving the dog snoring softly in the morning sunshine.

The rest of the family was awake and eager to get started with the day. After months of being cramped together either in the truck cab or our basement apartment, everyone was ready to get outdoors and revel in exploring our new surroundings. Tom had a host of projects vying for his attention, first and foremost to tackle the pile of lumber destined to become the barn. The girls had all sorts of adventures planned that involved a lot of imagination and much running with delighted abandon. My task was turning this place into our HOME.

We spent one day settling in before we arranged a quick sortie back to the basement to pick up the rest of our possessions. Our newfound church fellowship friends had offered time, vehicles and muscle. The promise of lunch and dessert guaranteed the help of a bevy of teen-aged boys. With vehicles and volunteers in place we headed across the county to retrieve our belongings.

My father had chosen to stack all our boxes of belonging around the edges of his pool house. This made the boxes fairly inaccessible during our stay and was a constant source of worry. We hadn’t seen many of our belongings since we first moved in. But, I kept reminding myself this was the last time that I would have to deal with any of it, so today I was trying not to be overly concerned with the combination of children, open water and the transport of innumerable cardboard boxes.

“WOW!” one of the younger helpers exclaimed as we entered the pool house to assess the job at hand, “Look at this place! They must be SO rich! I would just stay here. So, why don’t ya? What did ya want to move for?”  And, suddenly, I was right back in that Florida room…seeing the raging hatred emanating from my father’s every pore, the recollection causing near physical pain. There was no way I could face that memory at that particular moment. I bit my lip to stop the replay inside my brain. How long was I to be haunted by that one experience? I had yet to find any sort of explanation of the event for myself, so an attempt at explaining it to a teenage boy was impossible. I tucked my feelings aside, turned the conversation to other things and moved beyond the awkward moment. Fortunately, the mountain of boxes needed far more attention than his random question.

Now, it is a humbling experience to watch your earthly possessions being loaded into an ancient dump-truck. But, between that and the other pick-up trucks, we managed to pack everything (including the chest freezer and its contents) without either children or boxes taking an inadvertent swim.

We truly looked like the Beverly Hillbillies as we made our way across the county in a ragtag parade of random farm vehicles. The convoy only came to a halt once as we rattled along through the countryside, when the top to the charcoal grill came loose bounced off and landed in someone’s driveway. One of the helper-boys hopped out and retrieved it and the “parade” continued on its way after the momentary hesitation. Although the scars on the grill lid served as a reminder of that day for years to come.

Once on the hill, it didn’t take long to empty the trucks, utilizing a variation on a bucket brigade. The eager young helpers delivered the labeled boxes to their eventual homes with the air of adventure and fun.

The serious business of making this a home would come later. For now, we were just thankful to have a place to call HOME. And, we were particularly thankful to have found a group of friends to help us in our hour of need.

One of the ladies provided a chicken barbeque lunch for everyone. I made sure there were cookies and brownies to go around. The house was full of laughter and camaraderie as we all exulted in a job well done. As the work crew relaxed, I glanced around the room and felt a sense of community for perhaps the first time in quite a while.

This was it.

We’d found our niche.

We’d found our tribe.

We'd weathered the storm, made a new plan, and we were executing it nicely.

We were HOME.

Surely everything would be just fine.  It would be nothing but smooth sailing now. We had earned some time in the green pastures by quiet streams spoken of in the Psalms.

…but, then again, EVERYTHING is subject to change…"




You just finished reading part of my current WORK-IN-PROGRESS…the memoir entitled Subject to Change.

I hope you liked it! And, I hope you will keep an eye out for the finished product sometime in the near future. You can keep up with my progress (and read the odd and random) at www.BarbaraWomack.com Or “like” Barbara Womack-Writer on Facebook. https://www.facebook.com/BarbaraWomackWriter/ 

THANK YOU!










Sunday, June 30, 2019

Sunday Walkabout June 2019



“WHAT is so rare as a day in June?”

The brilliant blue skies and gorgeous days of early summer nearly take my breath away on occasion. It is on those days that I recall a snatch of a line from one of the poems my grandmother had memorized as a child and was always ready to recite at an appropriate moment.

It wasn’t until very recently that I realized there was more,  so much more, to the poem.

And what is so rare as a day in June?
     Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
     And over it softly her warm ear lays:
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;
Every clod feels a stir of might,
     An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And, groping blindly above it for light,
     Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;
The flush of life may well be seen
     Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
The cowslip startles in meadows green,
     The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
     To be some happy creature's palace;
The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
     Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun
     With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,—
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?

Now is the high-tide of the year,
     And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer,
     Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;
Now the heart is so full that a drop over-fills it,
We are happy now because God wills it;
No matter how barren the past may have been,
'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;
We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing;
The breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near,
     That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,
That the river is bluer than the sky,
That the robin is plastering his house hard by;
And if the breeze kept the good news back,
For other couriers we should not lack;
     We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,—
And hark! how clear bold chanticleer,
Warmed with the new wine of the year,
     Tells all in his lusty crowing!


Yes, James Russell Lowell certainly “got it” when it comes to the lovely month June. If you were to close your eyes during a recitation, the picture conjured in your mind’s eye would most certainly be the farm in the first days of summer.





By early June, there is no mistaking the fact that we are smack-dab in the middle of another season. You can almost see the grass growing, the gardens are progressing nicely and the earliest of crops are ready for harvest.

So, you might think that our days are filled to the brim with productivity and that we labor until way past dark as we endeavor to keep ahead of the ever increasing “to-do” list. Or at the very least, feverishly writing/working on my book project. But, you would be wrong. It seems that I spend far too much time sitting, trying desperately to recall what I was supposed to be doing and why my left thumb hurts. I’ll let you in on a little secret, the pain of fibro is probably not the worst thing. The exhaustion and brain fog make everyday life a real challenge.

But, that’s nothing new and you certainly didn’t come by to hear me whine. So, let’s see what’s been going on here on the hill.
summer solstice moon

Like I said, the beautiful days of June bring an up-tick in the workload. And, while we’re in the midst of making some pretty major changes and doing some serious down-sizing, Life goes on. Much of what we do follows the same routine from year to year, the rhythm being set by the ever-changing weather. Some years seem to follow a salsa beat, sometimes a sultry tango…this year is more a cha-cha…one step forward and then back. Or maybe that’s the hokey-pokey (which seems somehow far more appropriate).

After the ewes were shorn on Memorial Day (thanks Amanda and Sahara!) they headed out to graze and gain condition until they meet up with Otis in early August to work on the 2020 lambchop crop.

Shearing Day 2019


And, speaking of lambchops…

Our customers have been asking for chops and other goodies for quite some time. We simply cannot keep up with demand and probably never will. (for the record, we definitely won’t this year!) But, the long-awaited processing date finally arrived. We needed to run them all to the barn, sort out the big ones and hit the road.

When we brought the lambs in for sorting, the Boss took advantage of the close quarters and gave Otis a quick “hair-cut”. Now, no offense to the Boss (and do NOT tell Otis) but this was definitely NOT one of his best efforts. Otis is fairly lumpy and I must admit I’m not being completely honest when I say “hello handsome” out in the field. (like I said, don’t tell him, I wouldn’t want to affect his self-image and libido for later on) But, the shearing job was quick, painless and more importantly, without incident. And, just like a bad human haircut, it will grow out eventually.
bringing the lambs to the barn

Otis gets a "haircut" 

some big boys in the field

Otis and his flock
 (or maybe it's a boy band)



More importantly, we got the first load of lambs off to the processor without incident and we head back to pick up the lamb chops, steaks and roasts tomorrow. Next week’s Market total should be amazing as I had numerous folks asking for reservations yesterday. I am just wondering if we will have enough to last until the next processing date!

In garden news, despite a tractor break-down that involved TWO trips to the dealer for parts, we got the tomatoes planted.
geriatric tractor troubles

Just a little aside here, keeping geriatric name-brand equipment in running order is not always easy. (or cheap) But, making repeated runs for parts is far less costly than new equipment. 30 years and still runs like a Deere. I just wish I could say the same thing for the lawnmower that is sitting in the shop. Again. (sigh)

Anyway, about planting the tomatoes…

Now, I am definitely a fan of the home-grown tomato. You should read at least one of Sean Dietrich’s essays on tomatoes. https://seandietrich.com/homegrown-tomatoes/ (actually, read anything by Sean Dietrich…the man is a treasure.  www.seandietrich.com )  There is nothing like biting into a tomato, fresh from the vine, juice dribbling down your arm while you're still in the garden on a hot summer day…  or a BLT on freshly baked bread after a busy day in the garden…tomatoes sliced with onions and cucumbers… or… well, you get the picture.

But, dang! Tomatoes are the most labor-intensive crop on the farm. By far.

tomato planting day has arrived

hauling tomato plants





ready for mulch
We start the seeds in February or March, coddling them in the greenhouse through the cold weather. Begging those heirloom seeds we save from year to year to germinate and then grow can sometimes be a challenge. We place them in larger pots at least once to encourage good root growth. Move them to the big trailer to “harden off” before transplanting in the garden. By putting them in the trailer, we can move them with relative ease should the weather threat warrant (freezing temperatures or severe thunderstorms) Then, and only then, is it time to put them in the garden. And, that includes putting up trellises, laying down irrigation tape AND numerous trips to the barn for mulch. Then we wait. And wait. Even though there are teeny, tiny tomatoes on the plants when they go in the garden, we can’t count on any type of consistent production until at least July. Even in a good year (when we aren’t overrun by bugs or fungus or some other catastrophe) the season lasts a mere 2 months at most. At most.
STILL waiting


So, I’m telling you…savor that BLT, y’all!

Savor it.

Looking around the farm, I see so many other things I could tell you about. But, honestly, not even one of them is particularly newsworthy.
Mrs. Wren has another clutch of eggs
Look! the first green beans
broccoli harvest is both beautiful and abundant

broiler processing day 
volunteer hollyhock
with visiting bumblebee

there will be an abundance of pinecones
(the Boss says..."that means a hard winter"
but, he ALWAYS says that...
so, take it with a grain of salt)

caladiums are beautiful in the morning light

a fly approaches a chicory flower

daylilies at the creek

early morning nibbles

pretty flowers after the rain

those big flower pots may be one of our better investments!

poor mother grackle
these babies follow her everywhere
complaining for her to feed them

catbird on the fence

this is our early storm warning system
Gus stands on the gate and tries to open it
it is still unknown if he is trying to rescue us or needs comfort

hay season is here

anxious hens before morning chores

wet jewel weed flower looks a little like a goldfish

I could tell you about the sunflower that survives in the hen yard. A true testament to tenacity and being in the right place at the right time.

Sunflower in the henyard



Look!
It survived to bloom!

looking a little worse for wear after a big thunderstorm
I could tell you about how being over-run by rats in the barn led to a new, creative, NON-poisonous experimentation in control. My biggest concern with pest control is the safety and well-being of all the farm team (humans, dogs, cats, sheep and chickens). That eliminates a lot of options.
I know, I know...he is kind of cute.
But, they're SO destructive. And, can carry disease.



this may have been taking the instructions "be creative"
a little too far...
(but, there are fewer rats!)
I suppose I could extol the Boss’ virtues and tell you about the cool new planter he built attached to the front porch that means I can grow and pick lettuce/greens without scrambling around on my knees in the hoophouse.

abundant lettuce
(we even took some to the Market)

it looks pretty, too


What about the miracle of rain? We went from being inundated to experiencing a dust storm every time the sheep ran to the barn.
Yikes!
we need some rain

the bluejay could use an umbrella!

look at the squash plant after the rain!



Or, maybe I could tell you how my life has been changed forever by the discovery of Google Lens on my phone. Did you know that if you take a picture of something that you can have Google identify it for you? Oh. MY. Goodness! Where has this been all my geeky life? 

Here are just a few shots of my newly acquired knowledge.

panorpa on the kitchen window 

wild pinks on the lane
goldenrod crab spider on the gate chain

campanula on the lane

And, there are so many other things. But, I have rambled on far too long, so I will leave you with something I heard the other day that I’ve been thinking about ever since.

I was watching an interview with Cheryl Strayed (author of the book “WILD”) and Oprah Winfrey. If you’ve got an hour or so…watch THIS.

They were talking about mindfulness (as it seems everyone does these days) and Oprah detailed her early morning routine. She wakes up, looks out the window and says (in her beautiful Oprah voice) “well, hello Day! Look at you! What are we going to do with you, Day?” There is such joy in that type of approach. You open yourself to so many possibilities and acknowledge new opportunities to experience gratitude, changing your outlook completely.

Then I realized that is what I love about getting an early start. Heading out to do chores at first light, I often pause to take a photo of the morning, much to the annoyance of my animal charges who are anxiously awaiting their breakfast. Every morning is different, every day a blessing (although sometimes in disguise). I used to tell my children that no matter what…tomorrow would be different. Another chance, another choice...

So I’ll leave you with a series of sunrise photos (each beautiful in its own way), so you can be inspired to say (Oprah voice is optional) ”Hello Day! What are we gonna do with you?”

All from pretty much the same vantage point over the course of a week or so...

























Have a Happy Sunday! 


...and here's a bonus...
the crack of dawn


Thank you for stopping by. Thanks for reading. Come back and “visit” us again real soon.

Gus
doing what Gus does best...
(that would be nuthin', absolutely nuthin')