The first few weeks of spring have hardly been springlike here in the creek valley. The dawning temperatures have dipped well below freezing, and the gray skies have repeatedly dropped not only rain, but hail. I have sadly put on my down vest before venturing outside to make my morning rounds, all the while, a childhood rhyme circling through my thoughts.

I think of grace in all of its ways. There is the grace of the cattle as they live in our pasture and bring me joy. Perhaps I should call one Grace, as I have come to know that they really are graceful creatures, but no, I'd better not.

I wonder if I will ever stop learning about life here in the creek valley. After 21 years and at the age of 70, I just noticed several little purple flowers growing out in front of the pole barn.

Everyone she met on her travels would get a daffodil and a warm smile. She was known as the daffodil lady, and these were her daffodil days.

Greg and I have called the creek valley our home for over 20 years, and even in that short time, we have seen so much change.

It seems that no sooner do we light our burn pile and step back to watch our woody scraps go up in smoke, then we are adding to it once again and watching it grow. It really is a very hungry thing, and simply does not wish to lie bare for very long, so we oblige and gather more wood scraps and feed it.

We made our way across the rocks, and looking down, we knew right away what we had found. It was a wooden organ pipe, about three feet long, its top end burnt so that only charred wood remained.

Now you can see that we really do have a plan, and with that plan in mind, I am ever so looking forward to marking my 70th year.

This past winter, however, has really presented quite a bit of a challenge to our life here in the valley. Day after day, we have either been drenched with rain or if not raining, the sky has been covered with thick, gray clouds, and if mud had any kind of pecuniary value, we’d have become millionaires many times over.

I really do appreciate all living things, even the small ones. I have been known to gently shoo a spider out the front door, and of course I love the honey bees, but I am far from a fan of the wintertime, home-invading lady beetle.

Like many birds, cardinals mate for life, though their lives are not that long by avian standards. They only live for three to four years, mostly due to the hazards of predation, and it is only when their mate dies, that a cardinal will go in search of another.

I was so excited to wake up and see the creek valley covered in snow. The sky was a just brightening grey and everywhere I looked, everything was blanketed in white. I could hardly wait to get outside, but after checking the temperature gauge, I knew the importance of proper attire.

I think of her often this time of year, which is curious, for this is that time of year when I never see her. I wonder how she is doing, even though I realize there is no need to worry. She is not that old, by turtle standards, though she has quite likely known 50 creek summers and slept through 50 creek valley winters.

Some people are collectors. My mother was a collector of scarves. She had one to coordinate with every outfit. Back when I was an attorney, I took great joy in accessorizing my lawyerly attire by choosing just the right scarf to wear to court on any particular day. 

There has hardly been any sunshine of late and not only has the sky been gloomy and gray, it has rained – a lot. I feel as though every time I venture outside I am playing an endless game of hopscotch. I carefully navigate from one dryish patch of less muddy ground to another.