gloria and poopie

That's the name of the book, you know.  As a child of the sixties and seventies, I grew up with Gloria as a mentor.  Dude?  Just because I'm female?  Don't go there.  She fought for women's rights over the years remaining a constant voice for those of us who didn't buy into the "nice girl" scenario of the fifties.  You know, the deviled eggs and bridge club days.  Pressed linens and fine china.  

That is how I grew up.  My mother's family was well respected and rich back in the day.  My father was a share cropper's son who didn't have a pot to piss in.  His whole story of how "I became a farmer" is fascinating.  Farming tends to be something generational to me having lived in the same little enclave for almost 60 years.  I know the history and the lay of the land.  It's home.  

I planted tulips in my raised bed and have some to put in the dirt at the cabin right where those little mini buttercups and iris are.  Gotta' keep the faith flowing.  As for now, it's pecan season.  Don't come to visit unless you are invited.  We will smooth call the law if we don't know your vehicle.

Peace be still ^j^