we all scream for

 

She was behind me in the checkout line at the grocery store. 

   "Love your T-shirt," I said. "Can I take your picture?"

   "You know she has an ice cream shop," the checkout person said.

   "No, where?"

   "Right across from the Ozarks Cafe," said the woman in the T-shirt. "It's a pink building. You can't miss it!"

    "I think you got yourself a new customer," sad the checkout person.

    Right. On both counts.

It was a hot day. Aren't they all nowadays? I had been unable to eat much due to the spider meds, but ice cream seemed like the right idea. It was.

 

rites of passage

There's somebody dying across the way

It happens to be a beautiful day

I don't think she wants to stay

Thre's somebody dying across the way

 

Somebody's getting married across the way

They're lucky it's a beautiful day

Hoping their love is here to stay

But there always comes a parting of ways 

Every beginning contains an ending

And every ending, its beginning.

watching paint dry

 

The fumes are so strong that the bugs are passing out. But somehow I've convinced myself that it's easier than mopping.

And let me point out that I can't do it all at once. I have to leave paths to doors, kitchen, bathroom and stairs. It takes days to dry.

bringing it

 

I love to see a man in my kitchen. Especially this man. He brings intelligence, skill, food and wine to the table. Yes, we had leftovers, but his were oysters, which he shucked in situ. Here come the judge!

more critters

The itsy bitsy spider crawled up upon my arm

I didn't feel it then but it had done me harm 

Out came a welt that didn't go away

So now I'm taking meds for another seven days

 

It was likely a brown recluse—I've been living with them for almost two decades now, and amazingly have never been bitten before. So after a few days, I was urged to go to urgent care. They gave me a very powerful broad spectrum antibiotic, and here we are.

  Meanwhile the hummingbirds are swarming. The armadillo shells are gone, but I found some new broken shells in the grass. Judging by the size, these are likely from a hummingbird's nest that got blown out of a tree in one of the violent thunderstorms we've been having.

 

.

 

armadillo story

 

It started like this. An armadillo, one of four identical quadruplets, jumped up as the headlights hit it. Apparently this is how the nocturnal animal responds—certainly judging by the Sunday morning roadkill here in the Ozarks. They have been here for decades, after migrating into Texas in the 1880s and heading north. Here is an INTERESTING ARTICLE about the effects of climate change on animal populations. Apparently the armadillo has appeared as far north as Chicago. 

     People here pretty much hate them for the wreckage their burrows create in gardens and yards.  Anyway, this one appeared in my yard, started to bloat and reek. I guess the buzzards finally did the cleanup, and now I am left with just the empty shell and the smell.

made it!

I could wax poetic about the towns I passed (Brilliant), the signs I saw (Custom Bait, Trump), and the rivers I crossed (Tallahatchee, Mississippi, Eleven Point), but that seems like a long time ago. Not quite a week. I made it in time for the Fourth of July, which was celebrated on the first. Virginia and one of her grandkids came over, and I grilled, as is appropriate here in the middle of America. 

 

We had rain, and a rainbow, and a rodeo and fireworks. 

On the real fourth of July, yesterday, I went up to Mary's farm to pick up produce from her. 

 

This guy by my doorstep, however, did NOT have a happy Fourth.