Shirley Jean opened her eyes. Still fighting sleep, she turned over to watch Gramp walk across the yard, carrying the sliver milk bucket to milk their two cows. Her white iron bed was low enough to look out the wooden framed window next to her bed. She thought her Gramp was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. He was wearing his green pants with the cuff turned up, his faded blue overalls and his dapper straw hat. He walked straight with his shoulders back as though he had no debt. He skimmed the grass, walking as though he were a dancer.
Shirley Jean and Gramp lived on a farm in northern Michigan, where the North Wind blows and the animals are wild.
Gramp was a sheep farmer but also, he had two hefty workhorses, two lovely brown cows for milk, barn cats to chase mice, and a very nice bunch of chickens. Continue reading
In New Orleans, in the Garden District, where the warm air lay on your shoulders like a cat, lived the widow Madam Gardner. Her house was a pale pink color with great white pillars. A black iron fence surrounded the velvet lawns, ancient twisting oaks lined the boulevard, dappling the house in the late afternoon sun.
Madam was a sweet tempered woman, yet not afraid to speak up for justice, always offering a kind word to all she encountered and she had the greenest thumb in the parish.
Her garden was a source of envy for many. Even Madeleine Riboult, Madams oldest and dearest friend went as far as to hint, “One might think Madam’s garden to be enchanted if one didn’t know better.” Little did she know how close to the truth were her suspicions. Continue reading