I slept with the creek again last night. No better opportunity for such than I have with Doghouse’s deck and Moore’s Run ten feet away. Lately my ears have gotten weak enough it’s hard to hear gurgling rapids from inside soft recliner, particularly in cool weather when I close the door.
Outside I lay back in portable recliner with a camo poncho liner over me. Liner gave some bug protection on bare legs and arms left uncovered by short sleeves and shorts. Bugs still played with my bare head and face until I adorned my bald head with pocket hanky to further limit exposure.
All up and down the creek, frog talk and plops. Until I dozed off I kept an eye out for deer, groundhogs, muskrats and rabbits. Not much on any of those except rabbits. Bunches of them this year everywhere on my farm. A mama and two babies nibbled their way across Doghouse’s mown lawn now littered with Sycamore bark.
I woke about 1:30 chilly. Thermometer claimed 57°. I moved inside opting for comforter and upholstered recliner for warmth.
But before all that. Supper at KacKapon Restaurant in Wardensville. Liver and onions. Only place I know of around here where I can get a good meal of liver. Pap and Mom taught me to like it growing up. Almost nobody else I know wants anything to do with it. No place else I eat regularly, including home and friend, Mary Wicks’ house, has liver on the menu.
Liver, sautéed onions and gravy, mashed potatoes with gravy, white beans with chopped raw onion and a dinner roll to mop my plate. It was good. A good old time “from here” supper. Only thing lacking was fresh garden tomatoes. My plate went back to the kitchen bread polished clean, yet begging for a slice of cocoanut creme pie. My tummy said “no way!” so I didn’t.
[private] Mary fed me stewed green and yellow Zucchini fresh from my garden Friday evening. Cucumber salad with my cukes went with it and a pork steak beside. A bunch of leftovers made my lunch yesterday before my KacKapon meal. Mary is partly to blame for my loss of pie opportunity.
But before all that. Caitlyn visited me at Big House. Her mother, Jennifer, and father, James, had taken my granddaughter to Winchester. A brief visit to the doctor. A brand new parents kind of question. Nothing wrong. No problems except parental nerves. They stopped by on their way home.
James gave me a diaper and nursing alert by cell phone when they left Winchester. Far as I know Big House hasn’t seen a baby that small since Phoebe and I stopped here with James thirty some years ago. What do I do? What will they need? Oh My Lord, what should I do? Phoebe not around to take charge this time. Almost called her for instructions/suggestions.
I cleared and cleaned off some dining room/ kitchen and utility room table space. Got out a small stack of clean towels and wash cloths, all too rough and worn for a newborn, cleared my neck pillow and a dirty shirt out of recliner and waited nervously for arrival.
They came. Turned in the lane. Parked under the Walnut trees and there she was. Looked just like a baby. In her carrier, eyes open, I want to believe she was seeing a good place. I want to believe she was feeling the presence, seeing the smiles, of her Great and Great, great Grandparents.
She has hands and long slim fingers of a piano or basketball player, maybe both. Not a big girl yet, but she has a chance with a 5’10” mother and 6’2” father. Oh is she ever going to be fun to watch grow as long as I’m around.
I didn’t hold her. Not yet. Seventy Two years old, arthritic stiffness, Parkinson’s tremors. I don’t trust me yet, but soon. She’ll stiffen up a bit, look around and there I’ll be, ready to take her and show her around the farm a little. With luck, I’ll live long enough to see her pet Scoot and watch juice from a fresh picked tomato run down her chin.
It’s been a good, good weekend.