A 17th century samurai once wrote, "The elegance of simplicity can be, to the appreciative eye, a most astonishing thing." I happen to agree with this sentiment, and I can say that our weekend here at Possum Cough was elegant and astonishing.It was a simple weekend.
Saturday morning, MeeMaw and I took Bonnie for a longish walk. She's a delight to walk because she is attentive and obedient, and as easy to steer as an old Ford truck.
We stopped at the graveyard and I gave Bonnie some etiquette lessons on approaching a grave of a Confederate soldier. She seemed to be impressed with the gravity of my words.
MeeMaw and Bonnie stopped to watch the white cattle in the southern valley as they made their way to the pond for a drink.
And the early morning mist gave everything just the right feel, an ancient feel. The utility poles look just like the ones William Wallace marched past on his way to the battle at Stirling.
We righted a wreath that the wind - ever present on the sad hill - had taken down atop a fresh grave.
We let Bonnie romp through the pastures and even the woodlot, and then we took her home to cure her of her doggy smell. A little water clears us of the deed, as Lady MacBeth noted. And a little coconut shampoo doesn't hurt.
Here's MeeMaw clocking Bonnie going zero in a fifty-five zone.
As the day waned, we all sat outside in the west (front) pasture and read. Well, truth be told, Bonnie didn't read. She forgot her books. But she enjoyed sitting under our chairs.
Later, Bonnie and I went up into the woods to survey Mr. Davidson's pasture behind us. His silage corn is coming in nicely; I was surprised that I didn't see any deer. In about a month and a half, when he begins cutting silage, the cows in the surrounding pastures will keep us awake for a few nights as they bellow for a bellyful of the fresh corn and the stalks.
Bonnie took me on a rapid, shoulder-yanking tour of the woodlot. I knew she had struck trail by her body language: low and intense and very fast. I thought perhaps she was tracking a rabbit...right up to the point where a big old coon raised his head and looked at us. Bonnie dragged me to the tree where he fled and barked at him like a pro. She was so arrogant and proud for the rest of the evening. Treed her first coon, she did. And I didn't even get a picture...
After we left the coon behind, I took Bonnie back to the house. I went up to the south pasture and noticed that the seaberries have arrived. The birds will make short work of them. I just wish I could get a definitive answer on whether or not they're edible for humans. If so, we could have us some fine jelly or jam. I've tasted a couple of them (very cautiously) and they are pleasantly sweet. So far, no seizures or loss of bowel control for PeePaw...
One of my favorite daily sights...the Clinch Mountains in their quiet majesty. And before I forget, let me wish a belated Happy Birthday to both Mollie and Karen. Old men tend to be neglect certain niceties sometimes. But I hope the both of y'all know that I never do so out of lack of love. Happy Birthday and all our love to you both.
When I came down the pasture, Shorty and Domino were grazing along. I fed them some carrots and Shorty let me scrub his ears (some of Mollie's talent must have rubbed off on me). We love these equine beauties, but to tell the truth, we're looking forward to them moving back to their regular pasture. We want the entire woodlot and south pasture for Bonnie to romp in.
Five Pines looks as somber and mystical as ever, like a gateway into a faerie tale where a lad goes into the woods and meets a talking animal or an elf or a magical beast who changes the direction of his life...
This afternoon, we sat outside and let Bonnie get better acquainted with the bovines.
MeeMaw helped Bonnie with her algebra homework...
And then Bonnie watched with exquisite hostile interest as one of the barn kittens took a drink from the bird bath.
She went perfectly apoplectic when two more of the kittens joined the first one and drank the bird bath dry in 30 seconds.
At the end of a cool, breezy Sunday, what more could an old man want than to sit on a log in his own woods and think calm thoughts?
Rest well, loved ones.
