We had a very nice Easter. In the afternoon, when we were full of ham, we took chairs out to the woods and sat by what we call the peninsula. It’s just a sandy little area that juts out into where the river bends. The kids played with Barley throwing a stick out into the river which he would retrieve over and over again. It was a lovely lazy time and this was my view. (The peninsula is behind me in this picture.) We walked a bit before we rode back and poor Barley who zig-zags all over the place as we ride along the river got one of those vicious thorns in his foot. It was a horrible moment, but once we got it out he seemed fine.
The kids called me to the living room window yesterday. A pair of bluebirds were checking out our martin house high upon its pole. It would be lovely if they nested there. More lovely than you know. Jack built this martin house, painted the roof a pretty blue, put a wire fence around parts of it, a bird’s version of a picket fence. It was a pretty martin house— until the starlings started nesting there. Starlings are like horrible neighbors, loud, messy, and they waste food. But it wasn’t so much the starlings that tainted that pretty martin house. Picture the father on Steel Magnolias the morning of the wedding, crazed, with gun in hand. That was my Jack a few years ago. Starlings just do something to the male mind. Our pretty martin house is now riddled with shot. So much so that some of the fencing is even hanging askew. But, it will be better if the bluebirds nest there.