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My afternoon brought the unexpected pleasure of some relaxed nature time with a good friend. Though the humidity was high, skies were overcast and brisk winds ahead of Rita cooled things off. It has been unseasonably hot here lately with highs in the mid 90's, which seems oddly out of place against a backdrop of defoliated cotton fields and nut laden trees. Our walk took us down the lane that is my private driveway with cotton fields on both sides and hundred year old pecan trees touching hands over our ramble. I know the size and shape of the nut on every different tree along that route. At the top of the hill the dairy barn that "was" serves as a storage place for hay to feed the cattle this winter. How convenient that the hay field is just on the other side of the lane from the barn! The silos stand empty, a tribute to their once important purpose when the farm was young and they were a necessary part of the self contained agricultural operation known as Ferguson Farm.
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Soon the Virginia creeper will take on a crimson hue. The elms show signs of gold here and there. Goldenrod is everywhere. Dogwoods are hinting at burgandy. Hummingbirds search for feeders that were taken in and cleaned weeks ago. Crows make racket over the bounty that is theirs.

The trek back up the hill (always harder) took us over the ditch and through the remains of a corn field strewn with free squirrel food to stuff into our pockets. More cotton. Some wild roadside asparagus that has survived the ages since it was a cash crop. We sat in the swing on the front porch listening to the leaves rustle on the redbud tree behind us. It was then that I realized that the story of this place must be recorded by someone before it's too late. And that someone must be me.

That is my goal now. Having lived many of my years in a place that most folks can only dream about as a getaway from "real life", I feel called to tell the story in such a way that future generations might appreciate what was and hopefully can always be. I have the info, thanks to my historian Dad. Now all I have to do is 'git her done.

Goals are good. My oldest friend Kay, the ultimate funeral director, is so organized that she always has the cornbread for her Thanksgiving dressing cooked by Halloween. She sent me an e-mail today to let my un-organized self know that it was in the oven. Heh. Joke's on her. Mine's already in the freezer ;)
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