Another American Adventure: in someone else's yard

Sunday, February 26, 2012

in someone else's yard

Things are a little slow and lonely here. Jubilee is itchy. I'm busy with computer clients and taxes and the like. Am missing my Knob Hill walks ...

2 comments:

BarbaraFebruary 26, 2012 at 1:09 PM
Poor Jube! Now that it seems Bogart had an acute allergy to stuff in commercial catfood, I have a great appreciation of allergies in animals. Even Humphrey was affected, but not as much.

Hugs to you as you deal with all the mess that must be cleared up before you return to those Knob Hill walks.
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beth cioffolettiFebruary 26, 2012 at 1:36 PM
Awwww, thanks, Barbara. I was really needing a hug today. I hope that H&B are over the allergy problem. I'm giving Jubilee oatmeal baths most every day, but I fear that they are drying her skin out. Not sure what to do. The steroid shot keeps her just under the level of "acute", but still she is always itchy. I think it is something in the dirt here.
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"In those first days, people said, a squirrel could run the long length of Pennsylvania without ever touching the ground. In those first days, the woods were white oak and chestnut, hickory, maple, sycamore, walnut, wild ash, wild plum, and white pine. The pine grew on the ridgetops where the mountains' lumpy spines stuck up and their skin was thinnest.

"The wilderness was uncanny, unknown. Benjamin Franklin had already invented his stove in Philadelphia by 1753, and Thomas Jefferson was a schoolboy in Virginia; French soldiers had been living in forts along Lake Erie for two generations. But west of the Alleghenies in western Pennsylvania, there was not even a settlement, not even a cabin. No Indians lived there, or even near there.

"Wild grapevines tangled the treetops and shut out the sun. Few songbirds lived in the deep woods. Bright Carolina parakeets - red, green, and yellow - nested in the dark forest. There were ravens then, too. Woodpeckers rattled the big trees' trunks, ruffed grouse whirred their tail feathers in the fall, and every long once in a while a nervous gang of empty-headed turkeys came hustling and kicking through the leaves - but no one heard any of this, no one at all."

Annie Dillard, An American Childhood.