THE SKOOG FARM JOURNAL: STRAWBERRY FIELDS....

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

STRAWBERRY FIELDS....

This morning Gary and I picked enough strawberries to fill a huge punch bowl. We took them and some whipped cream down to the Senior Center for a treat. Did they love them or what?

2 comments:

Gayle said...: My kids were pretty impressed with the huge basket of strawberries. Honestly, my berries are in the wrong bed and don't get enough sun, but I don't have the time or ambition to move them. Plus, the escaping chickens eat them! We'll be lucky to eat ten all summer. Enjoy!; June 18, 2008 at 4:03 AM
CoyoteFe said...: Ooooo! Those are the most beautiful strawberries. Now I am hungry again ...; June 18, 2008 at 9:35 PM

FROM GREY HORSE MATTERS...

Where to Bury a Horse

If you bury him in this spot,
the secret of which you must already have,
he will come to you when you call;
come to you over the far, dim pastures of death.

And though you ride other living horses through life,
they shall not shy at him, nor resent his coming,
For he is yours, and he belongs there.

People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass
bent by his footfall,
who hear no nicker pitched too fine for insensitive ears.
People who may never really love a horse.

Smile at them then, for you shall know something
that is hidden from them
and which is well worth the knowing
The one place to bury a horse is in the heart of his master.

Thank you, Grey Horse Matters.

Poem for Masterpiece

Masterpiece of '79

He was a dark bay Masterpiece.

Deep chocolate brown

With small coal tipped ears

And three snowy white socks.

An eraser smudge of white

Above his eye

And a star connected to a blaze

Starting narrow and funneling wide

To wrap his lips

in a kiss.

He lived with dignity and joy;

A Masterpiece blend

of longevity

And temperament.

Appaloosa for soundness,

Thoroughbred for heart, and

Quarter Horse for sensible intelligence.

Although he is gone

His Masterpiece remains

In the memory of Jen

Who found and rode him;

And of Lori

Who soaked his beet pulp

And his sore feet,

Who loved him and,

When it was time,

Let him go.

Poem by Annette from Aspen Meadows.
Thank you.....

Followers

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

STRAWBERRY FIELDS....

2 comments: