So far, in our literal neck of the woods, it’s been a very cowboy Christmas. The past few weekends were spent fireside alternately killing rattlesnakes or discussing Dwayne’s recent deer hunt. Yesterday afternoon, after finishing a bbq lunch from Don’s bbq (Don’s a genius with potato salad, by the way), we lingered a few extra minutes by the embers, poking the fire with a twisted cedar branch. Jer had the radio on but low enough that only a few watery strains of “Oh my golly it’s a holly jolly Christmas…” made their way through the distance and smoke. The song sounds better by a fire with some Lone Star.
We got very little done inside the house this weekend due to the painters still working inside. Not that I minded much. The sun finally peeked out from clouds and rye grass started poking out of the ground. Grass grows again in Texas! The animals spent more time on pasture than hay this weekend and each donkey has green-ringed mouths for the first time in a year. It’s a beautiful sight to these drought ravaged, wannabe farmers. But perhaps the most exciting benefit of the recent rain is that the pond has turned back into a swampy mud pit. Christmas came early for our dogs, and especially Winston, who’s little labrador eyes popped wide open when he spotted the water. Happy holidays, ya’ll.
|grass grass grass grass!|