Hay days finally came to the creek valley. The rain stopped, and even though the hay was past its prime, it was better late than never.

This past week, I started a new adventure, serving as a docent at General Ulysses S. Grant's boyhood home, located in Georgetown, the small town just a few miles up the road from our farm. As soon as I stepped through the door, I realized how little I knew about the man who led the Union Army to victory in 1865, and went on to become the 18th president of the United States.

I remember the room so well. It was covered in wallpaper adorned with big bright flowers. A tall white metal framed bed was up against one wall. The bed was so tall I had to do a running belly flop to jump up into it.

The saying used to be "April showers bring May flowers." I believe that the past few years it has been more like "Rain in May, once again today." 

I have just learned these 13 easy steps to successfully plant a vegetable garden with a puppy dog. I am glad to share them with you on the chance that you might someday find yourself in such a predicament.

Perhaps the question should not have been about chickens, but rather an inquiry as to why the turtle crossed the road. We all know that the chicken crossed the road to get to the other side, but how often does one actually encounter a chicken crossing? 

​​​​​​​My father's mother was a magical woman. She was really more like a fairy godmother than a grandmother. Her name was Catharine, but we all called her Kitty. 

We would all likely agree that it is nice to be able to get something for nothing. I must confess, however, that I often feel a lingering doubt as to whether a particular something really is free for the taking, no strings attached. 

I have always loved birds. When I was a city child, pigeons were really the only birds I knew. I loved to watch them gather on the park paths, but mostly I remember how special it was to visit them at the rooftop home of the pigeon man.

Perhaps this was also a day to recognize that I really am a very fortunate gray-haired lady. A touch of blue had just begun to spread across the sky.

The first few weeks of spring have hardly been springlike here in the creek valley. The dawning temperatures have dipped well below freezing, and the gray skies have repeatedly dropped not only rain, but hail. I have sadly put on my down vest before venturing outside to make my morning rounds, all the while, a childhood rhyme circling through my thoughts.

I think of grace in all of its ways. There is the grace of the cattle as they live in our pasture and bring me joy. Perhaps I should call one Grace, as I have come to know that they really are graceful creatures, but no, I'd better not.

I wonder if I will ever stop learning about life here in the creek valley. After 21 years and at the age of 70, I just noticed several little purple flowers growing out in front of the pole barn.

Everyone she met on her travels would get a daffodil and a warm smile. She was known as the daffodil lady, and these were her daffodil days.

Greg and I have called the creek valley our home for over 20 years, and even in that short time, we have seen so much change.