Bud made this feeding shelf for my kitchen window. I load it with sunflower seeds for the critters. This young squirrel is the first of his clan bold enough to take advantage of it. I was glad he tolerated my presence well enough to get this picture. Of course, it was built with birds in mind but I like squirrels, too.
The tray is 9×14 “ with a 3/4 ledge wrapped around. It is anchored by a strap cut from a milk jug that runs from base of tray. The other end is wrapped and stapled around a dowel rod that extends inside window. Closing the window on strap with the dowel inside holds it securely. Bud intends to go back today and add additional support.
Miss Laura Mae’s kids were long gone. I loved tagging along with Mother to visit her since she always took time to talk to me a little before offering me a buttered biscuit and glass of milk. I loved the biscuit, but refused the milk, repulsed by the thick layer of cream atop the fresh cow’s milk in the glass jar in her refrigerator. I thought the thick cream looked like snot as she carefully spooned it into her coffee. Most of Mother’s friends had a houseful of kids and shooed me out before pouring coffee. “The kids are out back.”
My brother just called to remind me of his troubles with our cousin Larry, the bane of his existence. Larry was probably the only reason I had to be glad I wasn’t a boy when I was a kid. Thanks for that, Larry. Larry was fifteen months younger than me, falling right between me and Bill in age. Back then, our families had lots of overnight visits. Poor Bill was stuck sleeping with our cousins Larry and Tory, both power bedwetters. Though it was remarkable that Bill hadn’t wet the bed since he was a baby, when Larry and Tory visited, they both arose in the morning accusing him of drenching them. Naturally, they both helped themselves to Billy’s clean underwear in the morning. He still recounts the horrible sensation of sleeping between them, feeling that initial warm, then slightly stinging feeling that quickly cooled to the shock of awakening in a puddle. It must have been awful for kids who wet the bed to have to sleep over in the days before protective pants. Thank goodness for the advances that saves kids’ precious dignity and pride today.
The stocky little woman leaned on her cane as she picked her way gingerly toward the graves under the mesquites. She lay a few wildflowers on three rock-covered graves, one unmarked, one marked for Joe, and a third for their boy, Johnny. “I’ll be here sleeping beside you soon’s I can, Joe. I’m tired and the folks can get by easy without me now.” She thought back on the last eight years since Joe collapsed one morning at his milking. They’d had more than forty years and six children together. It wasn’t enough.
Nutsrok 