My father, David S. Waters, was a WWII veteran. When I was a little girl, dad was a member of the local Legion. Each year he would take me for a ride in his white convertible and we would pick up a big box of small American flags. We would then go to the
Boxford, Massachusetts
cemetery and decorate the graves of all the veteran's. The mosquito's would be fierce, but I would ignore them to scramble over rock walls and into the limbs of sprawling fir trees to tuck a flag on the grave of each veteran. How I treasured this time with my father. On Memorial Day, he would don his Army uniform, (which he still fit into!) and march in the local parade. How proud I was of my
handsome daddy, carrying a gun or a flag. I especially liked it when he carried the gun and shot the volley over the silent graves. Boy Scout's would play taps on shining bugles... one scout we could see, the other would be hidden in the woods, the notes he played echoing forlornly over the headstones.
After the volley was shot in memory of fallen
comrades, I would scramble with other children to pick up the brass casings of the bullets, still hot from the gun
barrel. I still have a few of these treasures tucked into the drawers of my jewelry box.
Today Chris and I took the ferry from
Rockport, Maine, out to
Vinal Haven. Serendipitously, we arrived just in time to see the local small town Memorial Day parade. A marching band of impossibly small children played, and a group of
Veteran's from many branches of the service proudly marched. I was flooded with memories of my childhood. The smallest kids carried bouquets of flowers and wreathes studded with remembrance poppies. They marched to the harbor, where music played, a preacher prayed, and the children tossed the wreaths and flowers into the ocean. From there the parade moved up to a veterans memorial obelisk. There was more music, more prayer, and the placement of wreaths on the memorial. The honor roll was called out by an elderly veteran in smart uniform. The flag snapped overhead against a robin's egg sky. I was awash with
gratitude. And memories.
I caught this shot of two lobster men setting traps on Memorial day. The gulls ghosted the boat, screaming for scraps. On this perfect spring day, the light spangled off the water, seals bobbed their dark heads amid the waves, and we drank in the scene with all the thirst of people who have been too long indoors over the winter. 
My father, David S. Waters, was a WWII veteran. When I was a little girl, dad was a member of the local Legion. Each year he would take me for a ride in his white convertible and we would pick up a big box of small American flags. We would then go to the Boxford, Massachusetts cemetery and decorate the graves of all the veteran's. The mosquito's would be fierce, but I would ignore them to scramble over rock walls and into the limbs of sprawling fir trees to tuck a flag on the grave of each veteran. How I treasured this time with my father. On Memorial Day, he would don his Army uniform, (which he still fit into!) and march in the local parade. How proud I was of my handsome daddy, carrying a gun or a flag. I especially liked it when he carried the gun and shot the volley over the silent graves. Boy Scout's would play taps on shining bugles... one scout we could see, the other would be hidden in the woods, the notes he played echoing forlornly over the headstones. 
We added to our menagerie today. Two Katahdin sheep. The plan is that they will keep our back yard manicured this summer. So far, they are nibbling steadily. The dogs don't know what to think. Stay tuned to see how this experiment works. I can tell you they are mighty cute.
A baby mouse, only 7 days old, was found in the driveway at work. Near no possible nest. Cassie, a co worker, took on the challenge of raising this tiny creature. She has fed him, (him being dubbed Figaro Vermin Mouse) every two hours round the clock. Although all information says it is nearly impossible to keep a baby this young alive, Cassie has succeeded. His eyes and ears are open, he is energetic and thriving. Cassie is a wonder. That is all there is to it~
In Maine, we go crazy for fiddle heads in the spring. These tightly coiled baby ferns are a special, edible type, harvested from damp, wooded areas. They are delicious. I saute mine in olive oil and garlic, then steam them until tender. They are a bit like eating fresh asparagus. Rachel and I delight in them, Chris finds them "icky." 
There is an abandoned house on my street. Raccoons romp through it, and bats use it as a safe haven when they are not flying over the night-clad pond in search of supper. Hanging behind the broken glass are curtains. The curtains fascinate me.
http://www.400eleven.com/graphics/bestofpage/frog_small.jpg
Today would have been my sister "Dicy's" birthday. After her death each of her siblings received a small portion of her ashes. I scattered my portion into a flower bed I created under a beautiful flowering crab apple tree in my front yard. I planted daffodil, jonquil and tulip bulbs in the garden. Each year during the time before, during and after Dicy's birthday, the garden is a riot of color.
Rachel painted this room for me as a Mother's Day gift, who could ask for more?
I put up a hummingbird feeder yesterday around 2:00pm. By 3:00pm I had two hummingbirds fighting over the nectar. I hung the feeder at the entrance of our home, and will delight at the zooming antics of the tiny birds all summer. 
The poetic term for a bunch of crows is a "murder." No scientist calls them that, only poets. Scientists would call it a flock. http://www.birds.cornell.edu/crows/crowfaq.htm#longevity
People who farm or "homestead" often have livestock guardian dogs. These dogs, (breeds such as Great Pyrenees or Maremma's, etc.) are raised with the animals they are destined to protect. 
