​​​​​​​My father's mother was a magical woman. She was really more like a fairy godmother than a grandmother. Her name was Catharine, but we all called her Kitty. 

We would all likely agree that it is nice to be able to get something for nothing. I must confess, however, that I often feel a lingering doubt as to whether a particular something really is free for the taking, no strings attached. 

I have always loved birds. When I was a city child, pigeons were really the only birds I knew. I loved to watch them gather on the park paths, but mostly I remember how special it was to visit them at the rooftop home of the pigeon man.

Perhaps this was also a day to recognize that I really am a very fortunate gray-haired lady. A touch of blue had just begun to spread across the sky.

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.