Fruit From Our Yard

Fruit From Our Yard

Mike and I are blessed to live in Florida. We are doubly blessed to live on the Nature Coast, one of the most beautiful parts of Florida. 

We appreciate our home. We enjoy the lake where we live. And of course, the beautiful trees. Yes, the wind can wreak havoc on them, if you remember last week’s post. But our trees and bushes… the flora and fauna of the Nature Coast is a blessing. 

This past week I enjoyed a sweet treat from our yard. A pineapple. It was tiny but sweet. It was prickly on the outside, but yellow and juicy on the inside. I planted it shortly after we moved here and another one last year. 

It turns out, it is pretty easy to grow a pineapple. You basically cut off the green top, leaving an inch or so of the prickly fruit part and stick it in the ground.

One of our neighbors, Gerri, heard of my “harvest” and brought me a small bowl of the pineapple she picked from her yard. She has several of the plants and enjoys the sweet fruit. She also brought me a bigger top of a fruit I can plant in our flowerbed.

That will make three plants. For us. At this rate, I think in a few years I’ll have enough to make some pineapple upside down muffins. Four to six muffins. Maybe. I need more for a whole cake. These pineapples are small.

Still, since we’ve lived here, we’ve enjoyed grapefruit for breakfast from our yard. We made lemonade from lemons we picked from our tree and now? Now we are adding pineapples.

Well, a few. 

But that’s okay. We are having fun. 

How does your garden grow?

The Pruning of Trees

The Pruning of Trees 

You’ve heard the saying “You can’t see the forest for the trees.”

For us this past week we could literally say, “We can’t see the lake for the trees.”

We have beautiful large trees in our back yard. Big silver maple trees and magnolias reaching for the sky. We have large hickory trees and “live oak” trees as well. Trees and storms do not always play nicely together. If you read my post a few weeks ago about the large tree near the back of our property still bearing the scars of a lightning strike, you know what I mean. If you didn’t catch that one, you can read about that scarred silver maple HERE.

For Reference:
This is Our 
Normal View
 from the House.

The hurricane season is technically June through November. We are in July and yet to see a hurricane develop. We will. It is the way of things.

But even though we haven’t had to deal with a hurricane yet, we are in the midst of our rainy season. We’ve had some spectacular thunder-boomers and not-so-mamby-pamby rainstorms with the thunder, too.

Personally, I like the late afternoon rains. They cool the hot summer days. They slow the pace of life down a bit, and afterward, every blade of grass is a vibrant green.

Last week, late in the evening, Mike and I heard a loud noise. “More rain?”  I asked.

“Sounds like it.” Mike looked out into the darkness. Nothing indicated rain…yet.

The next morning, Mike headed out before dawn to South Carolina to pick up a boat. Later, I climbed out of bed and made my way to the kitchen. 

Something was amiss. I can generally see the lake from our window. It looked dark outside. I turned on the coffee and looked at the clock. Not that late. I figured we were in for another cloudy day. I got my shower before heading back to the kitchen to fix breakfast. As I passed by the window again, I looked a bit more closely. 

Our View
After the Storm

The lake was still there, but a mountain of limbs and branches seemingly stretched from one side of the yard to the other. The oak tree I call “the tool tree” (because Mike props his rake and shovel and such against it) was stripped of some of its limbs. Huge limbs from the hickory tree on the other side of the yard landed over the limbs of “the tool tree.”  Or knocked them down.

We had no damage to the outbuildings or our house. The swing was intact. The fence was not harmed. It was as if the trees simply put up their own gated entrance to the back of our yard and the lake.

Though I sent Mike pictures, he returned late at night so didn’t get to capture the enormity of what happened until the next morning after breakfast. 

Mike Surveying
the Damage

We called a tree service to cut up and remove the large limbs and branches. In the meantime, the squirrels and birds are playing in the brush. And me? I’m praising God no real harm was done to anything… except those beautiful trees.

 

Then again, it makes me think... we all need a little “pruning” from time-to time.

Family

Family

The word family evokes images of gathering around the table for a meal or heading off in the same vehicle for a vacation. Of course, family also means standing by each other in times of turmoil or standing up for each other when under attack. And it means celebrating a life together.

Having my mother living close by is a blessing. This week we had another blessing. Allison, the oldest daughter of our clan and her son, the oldest grandson of our clan came for a short visit. They had been vacationing in South Carolina. While Allison’s husband and younger son headed back to Ohio, Allison and Joshua headed our way. What a treat! 

They arrived on Saturday and left in the early hours Tuesday morning. Although their visit was short, it was a blessing to all of us. 

My mom, GG, Braided Allison's hair 
Just as she did when Allison was a Little Girl!

Mike took us on a long boat ride. We explored our lake and adjoining lakes. We took pictures and showed Allison and Joshua the route we take on the water to go to my mother’s house when we pick her up for dinner via boat.

Our Boat House

The weather was perfect for their visit.

One day, we drove to Rainbow River and poked around the crystal-clear tributary. Allison enjoyed sharing stories of her experiences there when she and her sisters would spend weeks during the summer with my mom and dad.

Oldest Grandson, Joshua,
Getting up the nerve to go "all in" 
Into the Ice cold water of 
Rainbow River

But the best parts of the visit were the sharing of meals, going to church together, and sweet conversations. Mike’s son, Shawn (I claim him, too!) stopped in for a visit. I had three girls so having a brother is pretty cool for all of them.

Family.

The make-up of our family may have changed since Mike and I married, but the essence of what a family means is still there. Together we celebrate the gift of life together and the gift of love God has given us to share with one another. 

I am one blessed woman. And I know it.

One last picture...The finished product: 

On Blogging...

 On Blogging…

When I began my journey as a writer, I attended a writing conference in Wheaton, Illinois. The advice coming from the podium and in nearly every workshop I attended was simple: “If you want to publish, you must blog.” 

That was in 2012. I didn’t even know what a “blog” was…I mean, seriously. To me it sounded like a swamp of words. Maybe it is.

The notion behind “blogging” was to practice writing as well as build an audience for your books. Some people are good at it. 

Some authors blog… Every. Single. Day. Not me. But I did leave that conference with a plan to blog. I have put my blog out every Wednesday since. I called it “A Novel Creation.” I wrote about …writing. I wrote about crafting my first novel. I started to get a following, but to be honest, those first posts weren’t for everybody. They were for writers only. No one else would be interested.

I AM a Novel Creation

When my first book, Breathing on Her Own, was published in 2014, I shared that news on my blog. Not only was it the natural thing to do…it was expected of me by my publisher. 

As I crafted my second novel, I shared recipes I would use in the coffee shop called Libby’s Cuppa Joe on my blog. It was fun. 

My husband, Tom, died in 2014, a few months after Breathing on Her Own was released. I was devastated. I managed to keep the blog afloat with the help of guest authors and such, but it was hard to write. 

I could barely breathe. 

The blog changed when I moved to Kosovo for a year. I wrote about my experiences there. It was a healing time for me. That was in the 2017-2018 academic year. 

Although the blog follows my life and changes as I change, it is still a piece of being an author. 

Since marrying Mike, I have been writing books again. He is good for me and encourages me. I am not only writing, I am  excited about it.

I am now writing a book I consider to be perhaps the most important story I know to tell. It is about a teacher. I spent  twenty years teaching elementary aged students and fourteen and a half years as a professor of teacher education at the university level. 

The best advice any author will give you is to write what you know.

So...If you were to write a story, what would be the focus? What do you know? And what would you put in YOUR blog?

 

A Stroll Down Memory Lane

 

A Stroll Down Memory Lane

This week has been a week of friends… A week of memories.

Mike’s oldest and closest friend, another Mike, and his wife, Sandee, came to our house for dinner. They live in Tampa. Though we have been able to connect a few times at other venues, this was the first time they have visited us since we moved to Inverness. 

My Mike chose the menu. Spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread. Sandee brought dessert. 

Hey, entertaining “decision free” is pretty cool. 

I loved hearing the two Mikes talk about times gone by. 

·   There was the time Mike L. wrecked his motorbike on the gravel road and my Mike’s mom patched him up. 

·   Mike L. told me how he walked with my brother-in-law, Ronnie Waters from Adams Junior High to Bob and Ernie’s Bait and Tackle after school. (the Waters family business)

·   Mike L.’s profession was a horse trainer. Stories of training horses with my Mike’s assistance were fun to hear.

     It was a wonderful evening. That was on Thursday. 

If you read last Wednesday’s post, you know I painted a lake picture. If you missed that, you’ll find it HERE. 

The artist I studied under for that painting, offered to help me frame it at her studio this week. 

It turns out her studio is in Dunellon, Florida on Riverbend Road. Interesting. My parents once lived on Riverbend Road. I took Mom with me.

We stopped for a sandwich at The Front Porch, a longtime favorite restaurant started in 1986 by my mother’s oldest and dearest friends. They no longer run the business, but their fingerprints are all over it. The Front Porch remains a favorite among the locals. 

After lunch, we located Briget’s studio and in short order headed back down the road, my framed painting in hand. The area has grown. Changed. We slowed down as we came to Mom and Dad’s house. It has changed a bit, but the memories haven’t. 

“Do you think we could maybe drive down by the cabin?” Mom asked.

Many years ago, my parents and some friends built on adjacent properties. Mom and Dad’s was a cabin for weekends and such. Ed and Treva build a larger place. My daughters have wonderful memories of that property. They loved to feed the foxes and explore the land. And every afternoon, Mom and Dad took them swimming in the icy cold Rainbow River. 

As we drove, we spoke of old times. It was a wonderful afternoon with my mom.

Like I said…This has been a week to stroll down Memory Lane…well not exactly. 

Memory Lane was the name of the road I lived on during my teen years. Trust me...that would be an entirely different post!

The Artist in Me

 

The Artist Inside...Sort Of

There is an artist in me. Maybe in all of us. Mine is mostly hidden but begs to get out every once in a while. 

I’m not talking about that “craft person” I humor on occasion by crocheting something using a pattern or painting seashells to look like roses. Nor am I talking about that desire to “try something different” by joining a group of woodcarvers in my neighborhood. There, I follow someone else’s design or instructions to create my “own” hand carved Santa.

Carving "Santa"

No. This person, this artist, resides deep inside of me in a place I almost fear to acknowledge. Not because it is bad. Mostly because it is seemingly forever elusive. 

It is fed by an eye that sees light and color and longs to capture it forever on canvas. Instead, I typically rely on the camera on my Smart Phone to preserve the image.

I’ve done a bit of painting in times gone by. I’ve painted pictures on wood and canvas. 

And walls. Sorry Mom.

I’ve painted with acrylics and oils. I’ve created images with chalk or charcoal. I’ve watched a couple of television programs and followed one or two step by step workbooks. I have enjoyed the process. 

Mostly. 

I’ve produced a few creations worthy to hang up…somewhere. Thanks Mom.

I had no canvas so I painted
 these birds on a
 plank of wood years ago.
Mom still has it.

Yet…the desire to create something beautiful stays closer to my heart than an actual frame worthy painting.

Mike encourages me in my endeavors. He celebrates my writing, tolerates my unfinished “palm frond” fish on a bench in his shop, and encourages me to not injure myself at the woodcarving gathering. 

This past week I signed up to take a painting class at Rainbow Springs Art. (The closest I’ve come to formal training prior to this was a required art class in junior high and a short step by step one hour class at the YMCA.) There were three students in last week’s group class. Our instructor, Bridget, did not exactly offer a step-by-step process. I’ve had those before.

In fact, Bridget started the class by telling us “There are no Rules.” She then handed us a paper titled, “The Rules of Painting.” 

I started to laugh, but the first item reiterated her comment: “There are no Rules. But guidelines create good paintings.”

The second item stated “Be decisive. If you don’t like it, wait for it to dry and start over.” Permission for a do-over? I love it. It was freeing. It meant I didn’t have to get it right on the first try. 

That paved the way for other items such as “Never start with the color you want to end up with,” and “Use one color you are terrified of.”

The rest of the guidelines were as freeing.  Bridget gave us confidence. The daring to try. And anytime you can go into an experience and walk away with a new perspective, it’s a win.

The painting? A boat on the lake. 

A Boat on the Lake

It may never hang in an art gallery, but I’m thinking that framed, it may find a place in our house. Maybe. And maybe, just maybe, it will be the first of many. Or at least a few.

 

 

The Message of the Tree

The Message of the Tree

Mike and I have some tall …and I mean TALL…Silver Maple trees in our backyard. You don’t find them everywhere in Florida, but they are prevalent in Citrus County where we live. 

Our tree is scarred. 

We have a few clues to tell us what happened. 

Shortly after we moved here, we found a long piece of bark from that tree on the ground near it. A length of chain is firmly attached to that bark. 

A few feet away, in another tree, we located a heavy metal hook.We’re guessing there was a hammock strewn between those two trees at one time. Lightening was likely the force that brought the hammock down and damaged the beautiful gigantic Silver Maple.

The location near the lake was perfect for a hammock. The cool breeze off the water on a warm Florida day washing over you in a shaded hammock? Couple that with a tall glass of lemonade or sweet tea? It is the dream of Florida living come true.

But no more. The hammock no longer hangs there. However, though the tree is damaged, it is still alive. 

Recently, I shared this with a widow and widowers’ group: 

“The tree is damaged. It is still growing upward. It gives shade to our yard and is a home to birds and squirrels. I think when my husband died in 2014, I felt as scarred and dead as that tree. I was shocked. I felt marred for life.”. 

God and my family sustained me during that dark time. And in 2022, God brought Mike into my life. 

Mike and I have both weathered storms in the past. We’ve both lost people we loved. We’re not so naïve to think we will live out our senior years without a little wind and some rain. 

In the meantime, we have this beautiful lake, a swing instead of a hammock, lots of lemonade and sweet tea. 

And…we keep looking up. As we grow closer together, our roots grow deep. 

That’s the message of the tree.