Sebastopol catcher, Mike Harper, makes the tag on Forest’s Dylan Grayson in last week’s inter-... READ MORE
And so it begins. The never ending chore of summer lawn care, that is. How can it be that the entire hill had to be mowed this past weekend and we’ve not yet had the first full week of March. How could it be?
Plus, mind you, the yard at the Reservoir house, where our daughter lives, also needed attention. How could it possibly be?
"What was that," I remember asking the first time as a child I heard the noise from the woods out back of the house. “It’s a panther screaming,” someone — my dad, or my grandfather, or an uncle — answered. And so began the mystery of the big cats in my mind.
Two years ago at this same time, in this same space, I attempted to encourage travelers on our highways and byways to ditch the nasty habit of littering.
We watched a trail ride slide by out front of the house Sunday afternoon. There is something kind of peaceful about watching the horses, and wagons, and all their riders meandering down a dirt road.
I suppose it’s all up to the ole groundhog at this point. Winter, that is. Of course we’ve still got a little over a week before Groundhog Day and “officially” knowing what to expect for the next six weeks, but after the last half-a-month or so I’m hoping more than ever before that Punxsutawney Phil doesn’t see his shadow this year.