I went for a ride later with my dad, him riding Spicy and myself riding Dean's mule, Scooter. Scooter is a good, sound animal; she's really push-button broke, and I had a good ride on her. My dad took the camera up on top, so I've got a few pictures to show:
Here's some of when we got back:
Here's Adrianna on the tractor, doing the routine work:
My mom took me home while my dad and Adrianna stayed, and my mom told me she had been working a bit in the backyard. Our backyard really is something else, because it has great potential to be beautiful, yet it is completely overgrown. You can see where there are concrete steps leading down into a sort of "haven", yet to get there you have to somehow wend your way through thick blackberry vines and through the branches of trees weighted down with branches. Anyway, she told me that she'd been clearing away some of the weeds and had lain down some bark underneath one of our old, tall evergreen trees. An old-fashioned bench sits there, and I believe she is clearing the weeds away from there with the partial intent of giving me a place to write, and for this I'm thankful; I've been yearning for somewhere to go write that isn't in the confines of a building.
I'll have to take some pictures of our yard sometime this week... some of my garden project in the front yard, and some of the overcrowded backyard. It's late though right now, and I have to get up for school tomorrow, so I'll say goodbye for now.
"If I know a song of Africa, of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back, of the plows in the fields and the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers, does Africa know a song of me? Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on, or the children invent a game in which my name is, or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me, or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me?" -Karen Blixen/Isak Dineson, Out of Africa