Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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The Forest Incident: an Epilogue in Photos

   Yesterday I posted a rather lengthy tale about getting lost in the forest with M Half. I chose not to illustrate it partly because neither of us took a camera that day and also because that post was so blessedly long already.  Wowsa! Sharing that much was cathartic and a little exhausting, but it could have been an even longer story, you guys. A lot happened that day. Trust me.
   Now I need to tell you that a couple of weeks after that traumatic life event, M Half was here at the farm again and we took another trip into the forest, this time with a camera. This second trip was only about a third as deep as the first. We came out this time not only emotionally unscathed but also carrying a glorious souvenir! Here’s a shorter, happier tale for you this fine Tuesday evening.
This is the people view of most of the Pine Forest. 
Tall, straight tree trunks thrusting confidently into the open sky.
We enjoy a limited population of child-eating cows in this area.
This is the place we casually dubbed Yoga Meadow. 
It’s a small but private clearing on the north edge of the forest. 
On a a recent trip there by myself I discovered 
lots of new spring flowers and budding trees.
So beautiful…
Okay. This is called the Murder Sheyed.
I feel like I don’t want to explain that. Okay?
***************
What I will tell you guys is that
sometimes when I visit the forest
that creaky looking door is open, like it is in this photo.
Other times, with no interference from us,
it is not only closed but LOCKED.
No one lives on this property, you guys.
No one except, perhaps… Sasquatch.
This tree takes my breath away.
Look at how smoothly it genuflects toward the earth.
Here is the climbing tree we’ve been talking about.
Don’t you agree it is perfectly designed? 
The branches are arranged in a spiral staircase around the trunk.
It’s almost too easy.
Here is a little drop off and deer track tattooed by shadows.
I love that thick carpet of pine needles…
Bouncy, muffled, slightly crunchy…
When I was little I remember wishing I could nap in places like this.
When my girls were little they would ask for bedtime stories
about the Pine Forest of MY childhood, 
a big beautiful one in southeastern Oklahoma.
And here is the rusty blue treasure 
that tempted us back into the forest
despite our recent trauma.
We saw it near a trash heap and wondered at the way
it was perched so uprightly in those trees. 
Like someone had just finished riding it 
and had set it on its kickstand for a while.
The bike was so well buried in the forest and surrounded by thicket
that actually laying hands on it
required some patience and George Bush-style strategerie.
So worth it!
Oh, look. I am a huge dork.
This is how we show things on the farm. 
We pretend to be Vanna.
We call it Vanna-ing.
After wrestling the bike from its forest embrace,
M Half and I spent a little time busting the immovable chain 
and tearing the rotted rubber away from the wheels
in hopes of the whole thing rolling smoothly back to the farm.
Well, it never “rolled” exactly, but we did gain a little mobility.
And we did feel pretty invincible after the demolition.
And we did need hot, soapy showers after the exertion. Gross.
   So there you have it. The forest doesn’t always chew us up and spit us out; sometimes it offers little gifts. Right now the bike sits at our front door with some pansies and metal artwork from New Orleans. I have high hopes of eventually securing it to the brick wall above our kitchen door and using it to grow morning glory vines, like a cool rusted trellis. Again, if we are friends, you will not warn my husband of this plan. He is more worried about vines above doorways than I am about bloodthirsty cows.
Be Brave. 
xoxoxo

Game Change: Book Review & Movie Mention

    I have a lot to say about this book, but the bottom line is that while enlightening and challenging in some ways, it is not necessarily the King James of modern politics I expected it to be. And regarding the barely related HBO movie, it’s just apples and oranges. This is absolutely not a time when you can skim by with the movie and say you’ve got the content of the book. Not the same at all, you guys.
Game Change Book Review
   Julia and Gen suggested this book to me about a year ago, and I finally got around to reading it. Actually, it was quite by accident that I snagged it on clearance while grocery shopping and have thoroughly enjoyed every chapter since. Woohoo! Anyway, these smart, sassy ladies described Game Change as sort of a behind the scenes analysis of the 2008 Presidential election story, supposedly a well researched and scrupulously documented and verified truth telling of what really happened between the biggest candidates, both Democrat and Republican. 
   Okay. Let’s get something out of the way first. The nature of truth telling or truth accepting is that you have to trust the source, and while I love and trust my sister and friend, I don’t know these authors at all. And, you guys, I have seen that old Dustin Hoffman movie Wag the Dog, so I am skeptical enough about media motivation to read everything with big, chunky grains of salt. 
   That said, I will pay dues to the writers and publishers for beginning this book with a description of how to interpret it: Their use of quotation marks meant one level of exactness; their use of italics meant another. Sometimes they were patching together stories from multiple sources; other times they were offered detailed accounts first hand but could not name their sources. And so on. I read it with a general understanding of their “map legend.” So for the rest of this review, just periodically insert the words if this book is to be trusted.

   Okay.
   At first blush, do you know what I liked about this book? The fact they it tells a really important, complex story about a chapter of our nation’s history, but from an intimate perspective. The reader is offered a fairly solid description of key events leading up to the election of our first African American President, and this is something that will be studied for generations. We get to watch the election process unfold beginning with the candidates’ decisions to run in the first place. We get to see how the campaigning affected the candidates and their spouses. We get little glints of true light off of some of the characters that media coverage tends to either sanitize or demonize. And I just plain groove this you guys. Public decorum is good and necessary of course, but how fascinating is it to explore not the train wrecks but the contradictory realness of our movers and shakers? Love it.
   Specifically, and this was a big surprise to me personally, the book displays an incredible wealth of understanding about Hillary Clinton, a woman whose story is equally important to our history, even if she was not elected then. I have to say, nothing I have ever seen before sheds as much light and humanity on her than this book did. I may not agree with much of what I know about her politics, but as a woman, as a human being, I gained a lot of respect for her after absorbing what she has endured over the years and what her motivations seem to be. I stand among those guilty of judging her for her rigidity and failing to appreciate her “big picture.”
   But I cannot say that Game Change reads as unbiased.
   For all of its fact loving and even tempered delivery, I felt more and more like the book was guilty of exactly what the book itself observed of media during that election: favoritism toward Obama. In an overarching, pretty obvious way too. I got the feeling that the writers were fourteen year old girls fawning over a Twilight actor.
   Game Change repeatedly describes a troubling perception on the part of the Clinton campaign, the McCains, and others that the press and general public were so immediately and thoroughly enamored by Obama that they became a bit hypnotized by his speeches, regardless of the surrounding facts and regardless of the fitness of his opposition, etc. As time passed, the complaints certainly grew about the press’ blindness and tendency to be manipulated. Yikes.
   Again, this is something that can only be proven by a perfect bird’s eye view of all facts and considerations, but I can tell you that this book seems to have been very soft and very comfy toward our soon-to-be new President. It seems to be equally critical and equally unforgiving toward every other candidate, though to a slightly lesser degree Hillary Clinton.
   Even when peppered with unflattering or downright infuriating facts about Obama, story after story is told with a lyrical, almost fairy tale tone that glows softly and brightly against the grittiness lent toward every other main character. That was frustrating for me as a reader expecting something more encyclopedic. If this was a fiction novel, the hero was made clear from the beginning.
   This is not to say I don’t grasp and appreciate the emotional significance of these historic events; just that the epic is not told from quite the neutral position it claims.
   On top of this, the HBO movie that recently aired was a complete disappointment to me. It was all about Sarah Palin! As much as I enjoy just for entertainment purposes watching her speak (and by the way, Julianne Moore delivered an uncanny performance, WOW!), Palin’s appearance in the book was fractional at best. The meat of the story was between Clinton and Obama, and it was almost fully accomplished by the time Palin was introduced toward the end. So for the movie to be made so unrepresentative of the book is, to me, more of the tail wagging the dog. I also cannot help but notice that the same week that Game Change was aired on HBO, they also began promoting a new series called Veep, in which Julia Louis-Dreyfus plays an attractive but laughable female Vice President. Ouch. And shame on you HBO, for not trying harder to resist transparency.
   Perhaps now I’m the one who sounds a little biased. Maybe. But I can appreciate the book for what it was and use it as a jumping off point for looking more deeply into interesting characters. 
   Game Change, if not vettable* as a complete, true, and unbiased story, is at least a well written drama unto itself. It serves up a layered and rhythmic collection of interesting stories about truly fascinating people. The authors provide a little less scrumptious detail than a fiction writer might, for obvious reasons I suppose, but that little deficiency is more than compensated for by the substance of the stories and their implications.
   I have so very much more to say about this you guys, pages and pages of notes I intended to share, but the horses are hungry and I need to mix some bread dough for dinner then possibly do a Jillian Michaels workout video. Have you read Game Change? Do you have time to talk about it? This is not a book club selection, so I am kinda flying solo here and  would love to hear others’ reactions and insights! Thanks for another excellent reading recommendation, Julia and Gen! Love you like crazy!
Be Skeptical. Seek Truth. Vote.
xoxoxo
* Vettable is one of about a million words in this book which I have been dying to use myself since reading it. Another of the many gifts of Game Change is a dramatic spike in my vocabulary! I started keeping track of words I had to understand from context but look up for definition and came up with a pretty healthy list! LOL

Famous Last Words: the Forest Incident

   So, a few weeks ago my ten-four-good-buddy M Half was visiting the farm. Somewhere between her remote office laptop work and conference calls, my multitudinous farm chores, and the need for us both to get cleaned up for another installment of our world famous book club which we affectionately call “Dinner Club With a Reading Problem,” *take a deep breath* she and I decided to thrust ourselves into the quiet and solitude of the Pine Forest. We needed some Zen, you guys. We laid everything aside, found suitable footwear (okay, yes, I just kept my rubber boots on, whatever), and paced toward the green, threat-less edge of the wild. 
   Here’s the thing. In hindsight I see our crossing of that gated threshold between the Lazy W and the Pine Forest a bit like the beginning of a good thriller movie. Neither of us knew it at the time, but we were about to make a few memories. Like, for real you guys. 
   Why haven’t I written about this yet? Why now, almost a month late? Because it shook me to my core. My tree-climbing, childhood summers-in-the-country, horse whispering, ain’t-skeeird core. I have spent the last few weeks digesting and coming to terms with what happened, what almost happened, and how it all came out in the wash. Plus, of course, M Half wrote about it last night and spicily bet everyone ten bucks I would follow suit today. So here we go. Here is my ten dollar story.
********************
I. The Setting:

   The forest was bright and friendly that afternoon. We passed by the abandoned and mostly demolished workshop where the owls eat their prey then threaded our way between wild roses, dormant cherry trees, and baby loblolly pines. This is a sparse expanse of the property, easily navigated. The pale prairie grasses crunched beneath our feet. Sunshine sliced through the leafy canopy and warmed us up pretty quickly. I remember having worn a light jacket but not needing it for long.

   We paused at a particularly open, grassy spot where the sunshine poured in freely, like liquid gold, and we dubbed it Yoga Meadow. Having just pressed through a half hour of yoga together back at the house, M Half and I were in the mood to commemorate the peacefulness. We may or may not have done some heavy-footed, jacket-impeded spontaneous poses right there in Yoga Meadow. Imagine Madonna in Vogue crossed awkwardly with Mary Catherine Gallagher from SNL.
II. Onward…
   We descended through the forest, which slopes downhill as you head either north or west away from the farm. Perhaps this is a good time to point out that I was eventually unsure of what direction we were headed. We slipped through dilapidated interior gates (but never crossed a fence, this is crucial information). We followed deer trails and marveled at unusual divets in the thick pine needle floor. We listened. We admired. We soaked up nature and shared a certain astonishment that so much wildness was so near home.

   I think I said something like, “You know, I used to let the kids hike in here all the time, and I’ve been here a hundred times alone, but never this deep. We’ve never been past that fence.” M Half and I more or less agreed about the unlikelihood of getting lost so close to home. Which is to say that I arrogantly assured my friend there was no way we would ever get lost so close to home.

   People should keep track of the stupid things they say. 
   We hiked lower and lower, trading light, effortless conversation, touching the tree bark and watching the undergrowth increase dramatically with every step. I noticed my companion’s delicacy, her wish to disturb as little as possible, even if it meant doing some crazy bends and dips. She is an experienced, cosmopolitan hiker who has navigated beautiful places in Colorado, Arizona, and Costa Rica, probably much more. I am just a wide eyed tromper who is happy enough to have explored hundreds of great places right here in Oklahoma plus a few in Louisiana. (I don’t think a Mexico honeymoon counts for the purposes of this story.)

   While she was avoiding leaving even a footprint, I was collecting what few wildflowers I could find and snapping off slender tree branches so I could “force” them to bloom in a vase of water back home. I was raised to be respectful of nature but accept her wonderful gifts. This is not where the dissimilarity ended that day.


III. More Examples of How Differently We Experienced That Hike:

  • I climbed a tree that was designed specifically for climbing. It was perfect. She watched patiently from the ground and was apparently scripting in her head explanations to Handsome  about my inevitable mouth injuries. There were none, thanktheheavensabove.
  • Having been home when the storms hit a few years ago, I was relatively unfazed by our discovery of tornado debris still remaining in some of the trees. She seemed almost saddened by it, or at least stunned.
  • I must have looked behind us, over my shoulder, about ten thousand times, wondering over and over again why it suddenly got so quiet in there, while she just pressed confidently on the chosen path. No biggie, her posture seemed to say. We got this.
  • I was afraid. She was undisturbed. I would make it home in tears of panic. She would make it home in tears of laughter.
IV. Fast forward about 45 minutes, or maybe it was 3 hours: 

   At some point quite deep into the hike, my writerly friend and I discovered not only deer droppings but also cow patties. 

   Cow patties. In the forest.  The forest that is supposedly fenced off. Where no one lives. Where certainly no one keeps cows. A phantom cow. A phantom menace cow.
   
   Now, you guys, you know I have a buffalo who is as sweet as can be, and I know how to deal with him and horses and mean roosters and geese and everything, but cows are very different. 
V. My Fear of Cows Background: 

   When I was a little girl on one of those tromping expeditions with a few other young Okies (cousins), we were once viciously, rabidly, undeservedly chased and subsequently treed by a cow. This is one good reason to be a skilled tree climber, even past the age when most people find it reasonable to climb trees. You never know when a cow will chase you up one. It happened to us also on the edge of a forest, also in the quiet, like this day with M Half. My cousins and I were in that tree for over an hour, and it was flat out terrifying. I thought I was going to die. 

   The day of my hike with M Half, though, what did I actually say? Probably just, “Hey, look, I think that’s a cow patty. Huh” Trying to act all cool. She could not have known that from that moment on my heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird and as violently as a bass drum. My bovine terror was the beginning of the end of our peaceful adventure. 

VI. Things declined rapidly from there:
   We approached a new boundary, another dry creek bed, which M Half seemed happy to cross, and I nearly had a panic attack. I wanted to be home in the worst way, not extending our distance! I could not see any buildings, could not hear any of our animals, not even Mia’s heartsick moaning, could not even tell which direction was north, and I felt that prickly heat stabbing at my armpits. My eyes were glued open at maximum dilation. I was on high alert and was actively thanking God I had not brought my children on this misadventure. Because everyone knows that cows, vengeful creatures that they are, love to eat juicy, tender children.
   Then as we tried to elbow our way back from whence we came, the landmarks had shifted. We thought we were following the same trees and errant plastic milk crate, but then it was clear we were not. It was painfully clear to me and humorously clear to her that we were not headed back the same way we came.
   It took every ounce of self control I could muster to not break down into tears.  
   I was working my way through a maze of braided tree branches, desperate for a clear path and vowing to never again wander so far from home, when to my right appeared a low, thick, dome-topped structure. Kind of like a small hut. Kind of like a den. About two feet away from me. Where my boots were fairly stuck in the leaves, mud, and undergrowth.
   Oh my God, it’s probably a wolverine den, I moaned inwardly as the panic mounted in my body. But audibly all I said was “Hey look, some kind of a den.” Again, the undersell was pathetic and probably transparent.
   M Half, at that exact moment, said in her cheerful, experienced-hiker voice, “Hey do you have bears in Oklahoma?” 

   “WHAT?! Why would you SAY that?!” I was suddenly shrieking at her. I could no longer hide my terror. Without any warning my secret fears came spilling out all over my bewildered friend. I tore mercilessly through those low, braided branches, determined not to get caught by either a bear or a wolverine. Or a cow. Our pace increased tenfold as we searched for the red dirt road, for any dirt road, for any sign of civilization.

   Every twig that snapped beneath our feet was possibly a beast thirsty for our guts and marrow. When a rabbit darted in front of me I screamed bloody murder, a long, exaggerated wailing, pleading for my life kind of scream that unfortunately made M Half giggle uncontrollably.  It was, again, pathetic on my part, and it was also a recipe for our first real fight as friends. 

VII. The Attack:

   Out of nowhere appeared a coyote and a bobcat working in tandem to kill us. Or, according to M, they were two “smallish to medium sized” dogs, I am still not sure. They stopped on our path, looked us directly in the eyes, then turned on their murderous heels and ran in a straight line toward a property we had just noticed ourselves. It was hidden behind some trees, an unsavory and foreign looking place that was probably the home of a serial killer.

   M Half, still sweetly oblivious to the opposite effect being had by her attempts to calm me, said, “Don’t worry, they’re just going to tell their owner we’re here…”

   “Are you serious? That is not good! People have guns and I think we’re trespassing!!” I started jogging. Which is to say that I willingly left M Half to her own devices. Side note, when I told my Mom this part of the story about a week later, she scolded me for leaving my friend behind. Awesome.

VIII. Then the road: 

   We found it just as suddenly as we had discovered our desperation. The blessed, unpaved, tire tracks red dirt road which would prove to be either our salvation or the site of our final, ironic demise. I had the sensation of vertigo, where the actual length of the road stretched out elastically, bending and eluding my clumsy, rubber-booted feet. I would have felt more stable on a moving fun house floor.

   Within seconds, from that unfamiliar property behind us, a truck engine came to life. No, it roared to life. The driver who had turned its ignition key was clearly digging his foot deeply and repeatedly into the accelerator much the same way he wanted to dig a knife deep into my belly. Revving it wildly. I started to sprint, but M Half protested.

   “Just walk, calm down, it’s okay…”
   

   I have these vague, disconnected memories of my level headed (if slightly naive) buddy trying in different ways to calm me down, to slow me down a bit, assuring me of things like never in the daylight, never so close to home, we’re not even wearing bikinis, etc, etc. Part of me remembers her trying to touch my arm, to soothe me, and I tossed her off, brimming with bitter adrenaline, unwilling to be talked down from my ledge of hysteria.

IX. Home Sweet Home:

   Eventually, of course, we made it down that elastic length of red dirt and found the perpendicular paved road which would lead us home. Although I felt like we had hiked to the ends of the known world, the farm was in fact only about a quarter of a mile away. M Half was full on laughing by then, and I really can’t blame her. But it was a while before I could sincerely join her in that levity.

   As we shoved open the front gate and walked sweatily and trembling up the driveway, she and I both noticed that the Lazy W animals were also on high alert. The horses were tense, ears pricked forward and eyes wide, the buffalo’s tail was straight up in the air like an exclamation point, and the geese and guineas were screaming and flying around the yard, definitely panic stricken.

   We can only guess exactly why the barnyard was so steeped in chaos upon our return, but in my heart I know they felt my fear. They might have even heard me scream, realizing now how close to home we actually were when it happened. But we were safe. No serial killer or cow or coyote would dare battle our many loving animals for my life or that of my friend.

********************
   So that’s my ten dollar story. Please compare it to M Half’s to get an alternate version of the truth (rib-rib). And for goodness’ sake, if you go on a hike, use breadcrumbs.
Hansel & Gretel Were Smart
xoxoxoxo

Cheer Us Up You Guys!

   We are in desperate need of some cheering up around here, you guys! Both of us for a change, not just one of us, so I am doing what any self respecting Apronista would do… cooking up a house full of comfort food. My friend Marci would be so proud. Her favorite method of stress management is definitely cooking (she is highly skilled in the kitchen, that doesn’t hurt), followed closely by laughing till her face hurts. So maybe tonight after we fill our bellies Handsome and I can latch onto something hilarious. 
   For supper we’re having roasted garlic-lemon chicken with the skin on so it gets all crispy golden and a little greasy. Also Parmesan-stuffed zucchini and hot buttered egg noodles. Perhaps you’ve noticed we are on neither the Paleo diet nor Atkins. And I wish I could boast that the noodles are made from scratch, but they’re just not. They were on sale, though. So there’s that.
   Then to wash all of that down we’ll try a new chocolate chip cookie recipe. Like most people, we have had our favorite said cookie for many years and don’t deviate too easily. But sweet Edie over at lifeingrace says that these delicacies are worthy of their own Facebook page. Ha!! Awesome. That’s my kinda cookie!  So I have a big sweet, salty batch mixed up and am just now inhaling the first tendrils of sugary, chocolaty aromas from the oven. The fact that it’s interlaced with buttery garlic and sometimes that bright green jolt of softening zucchini does not hurting my feelings.
   I seem to have our caloric intake covered for tonight. Maybe enough for tomorrow, too. So that leaves us still needing the hysterical, eye watering, stomach stiffening laughter. What do you say? What can you offer us that might make us laugh uncontrollably tonight??
LOL, please!
xoxoxoxo

There’s a New Tree Farm in Town

   For about two years we have watched with great curiosity as  a section of land just past Midwest City, parallel to I-40 westbound, was cleared, plowed, reshaped, and built upon or some mysterious new business. For a while we thought with chagrin it would be another neighborhood development, but eventually we saw signs popping up about a tree farm. Then, because we are generally bitter people with snarky senses of humor, we rolled our eyes about the irony of clearing out trees in order to then sell trees. (Insert here all of the very legitimate information about what types of trees were actually cleared: Probably tons and tons of red cedars, not pines or red buds…)
   You guys, I humbly report that all of the nose upturning these past couple of years was for naught. Last week this new tree farm finally opened, and I paid them a visit. It is breathtakingly beautiful inside and out, a home landscaper’s paradise! If you live in the area and have any interest in gardening, plan to spend an afternoon here. But do not bother taking your camera.
   I entered the store like a kid in a candy shop but also impersonating a journalist because I had a camera strapped around my neck and was wearing very clackety high heeled boots. I started snapping photos of all the beautiful displays, the distressed wood furniture, the artwork, the pottery, the wall murals… Until I was delicately asked to not do that anymore. Cease and desist. The manager and cashier were ever so polite about it, but they preferred not to have the retail spaces photographed. I suppose that makes sense, because so much of it was original artwork and such. 
   It didn’t sit so well with me at first, though. I protested mildly, saying, “But I live in the area and I have a blog, I wanted to write a little advertisement for you guys.” Public service announcement: They don’t care if you have a blog.
    “I’m so sorry, ma’am, we really aren’t comfortable having the store photographed.”
   We volleyed the issue a few times. I might have even thrown in the word Langley for good measure, but finally I switched my camera off, swung it behind my back, and proceeded to take in the expansive place just as a customer.
   This gorgeous floor mosaic welcomes you just as you cross the threshold. This photo is the only one of the interior I actually had permission to take, so I’m sharing it. The rest I will keep to myself. Just go see this place, you guys! You will gasp and grin over and over. They have gifts for children, gifts for serious gardeners, gifts for beginning gardeners, gifts for home decorators, gifts for just about anyone. They even have a landscape artist right there in the store! He was drawing these very professional looking diagrams and aerial views of properties in pastel colors, perfect circles, and triangles… I think as I approached that corner of the room he could sense that a haphazard garden experimenter was nearby, and his orderliness went into overdrive. This pressed me away silently.
   The grounds outside were just as breathtaking! What you see driving past on the Interstate is only a sliver of what they have built at Tony’s Tree Plantation. 
   They have a spectacular greenhouse, of course, filled with Oklahoma standards, herbs, veggies, and some tempting exotics. I purchased two rosemary babies and a mammoth spider plant at very good prices. All of their plants looked ferociously healthy, and the fragrances in the greenhouse were absolutely intoxicating. I caught myself walking in these little spirals, touching the ruffled greens, inhaling the lemony blooms, feeling the crunch of wet gravel beneath my boots… 
   They have several acres of tree rows out back where I will eventually buy some more fruit trees for the Lazy W orchard. Their collection of evergreens is so vast that I wonder now if they also plan to sell  live Christmas trees? Not sure. But it is a beautiful space.
   And they have curvaceous stone paths, intimate garden settees, and probably half a dozen fish ponds embracing two sides of the property. Walking through so much lushness really got me motivated to complete a few gardening projects at home.
   Oh! And their collections of both Vietnamese and Mexican pottery pretty much blew my socks off. Except I wasn’t wearing socks. But I did gasp out loud and get a weird look from a fellow shopper.
What is this???
I need this.
I need it like I have never needed 
even a blue hydrangea.
   I meandered for over an hour, filling my mind with bold new ideas for inserting artwork into the garden and for growing new, unusual things. And the whole no photos bit of drama could not have ended more gently. The manager carried my purchases to my car and apologized if it had offended me, which of course it really did not, though I played it up pretty good on Facebook that afternoon. Because that’s how I roll.
   I must admit that my Oklahoma City heart still belongs to Horn Seed Company, located just a bike ride away from my childhood home. But that is a forty minute drive now, so Tony’s will very likely become my local haunt. Please pay a visit when you can, and to make the drive worthwhile, come to the farm for some fresh sweet tea. I’ll show you the forbidden retail photos!! Mwa-ha-ha…

Twelve Days Till My Beekeeping Class!
xoxoxo