Friday’s flower No. 1


My Darling Husband, CutieDog, and I explored the Knoxville Botanical Garden and Arboretum for the first time. It is a private garden that began life as a retail plant nursery. It is open to the public; entrance is free. They are supported by donations and rentals of the space for private events. It is maintained by the Knoxville Garden Club. The members are slowly restoring the whole garden.






a nodding, yellow host


Last autumn, a group of local volunteers planted 60,000 daffodil bulbs in the medians around three exits along one of the interstates just north of downtown Knoxville. I went to see one of the displays. The sight is very pretty to behold–crepe myrtles to follow–and should be spectacular in years to come after the daffodils have multiplied.

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
I wandered lonely as a cloud                                                                                                                                
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,                                                                                                                  
A host, of golden daffodils;                                                                                                                               
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,                                                                                                           
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.                                                                                                
Continuous as the stars that shine                                                                                                                       
And twinkle on the milky way,                                                                                                                          
They stretched in never-ending line                                                                                                              
Along the margin of a bay:                                                                                                                                    
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,                                                                                                                    
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.                                                                                                            
The waves beside them danced; but they                                                                                                         
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:                                                                                                                     
A poet could not but be gay,                                                                                                                                     
In such a jocund company;                                                                                                                                          
I gaze--and gazed--but little thought                                                                                                          
What wealth the show to me had brought:                                                                                                     
For oft, when on my couch I lie                                                                                                                                 
In vacant or in pensive mood,                                                                                                                            
They flash upon that inward eye                                                                                                                     
Which is the bliss of solitude;                                                                                                                               
And then my heart with pleasure fills,                                                                                                              
And dances with the daffodils.                                                                                                                                
-- William Wordsworth

plans B & C, because of the D

Today was a lovely spring day in east Tennessee, and My Darling Husband had the sudden urge to go hiking in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. So away we went, up to the entrance road to Clingman’s Dome. Alas, the dome is closed until March 31, so we went across the road to the Newfound Gap trailhead.20160315_17362420160315_17364120160315_174029

Alas, no dogs allowed! We then read that pets on a leash are allowed on only two of the trails in this national park. That is highly disappointing, because we had planned to take CutieDog on most of our hiking excursions here and we want to work our way along all of the trails in this park.
We loaded the dog and ourselves into the car and headed back down the twisty mountain road to this path that we spied on the way up. This path is called the Quiet Walkway and there were not any No Dogs Allowed signs to be seen.


Along the Quiet Walkway is this cemetery from the 1800s. The tall headstone on the right is a newer replacement stone for one of the old graves.20160315_182049

We then came to this river, which I think is the West Prong Little Pigeon River. You can see the native rhododendrons in this shot. Our mountain goat of a dog rambled and jumped from rock to rock right along with us. We sat on a rock here for a bit.20160315_18382020160315_184535

We had met two exiting hikers at the head of the Quiet Walkway, but no others. Not being able to hike with the crowds on the first two trails was rewarded by having the Quiet Walkway and this spot on the river to ourselves, the birds, and the sound of rushing water. Bliss.

“ahhhh” and the bustle

Today we escaped to the Nichols Arboretum, part of the University of Michigan’s botanical garden holdings. The arboretum is a peaceful respite in the hustle that is downtown Ann Arbor, the university, and the MU hospital campus.

the arboretum office building is an old house
the hustle and bustle, as viewed from inside the ahhhhh



the Huron River



lots of ups and downs here
an old apple orchard



newsworthy foot attire

P1080676You know you are in southeast Kansas (or Oklahoma, as the case may be) when one of the newscasters wears cowboy boots on air and does not hide them.  This picture that I took of our t.v. screen shows the reporter on the right wearing cowboy boots with his suit.  That section of the picture is a bit dark so you may be unable to see the details of his footwear.

The television news stations that we receive air from Tulsa, Oklahoma.

the sounds of a summer evening

Cicadas are the music of summer, but so is the community band of Our Small Town. They play in the band shell at the city park every summer Tuesday.


My Darling Husband and I ate a picnic dinner there this evening.


In a small town, you are more likely than not to run into friends and acquaintances wherever you go.


’tis a fine evening for driving pretty cars

perfect-temperature tap water

hot warm cold

These are the water storage tanks in Bartlesville, Oklahoma.  We pass by them often when I take My Darling Husband to and from the Tulsa airport, visit family down there, or are just in Bartlesville for shopping.  The lettering on the tanks is amusing.  If my picture is too blurry (I was in the moving car when I took the photo. No, I was not driving.) to read…one says Hot, the middle one has Warm written on it, and the right one is for Cold.

“Reader, I married him. A quiet wedding we had….”,

then I moved from a large metropolitan area (Kansas City) to his quiet town in southeast Kansas. Now what? I knew the sidewalks would roll up at 5 p.m. since I grew up in a small town. However, sixteen years in big cities can spoil a lady!

After the busyness of packing up my life and wedding preparations…after honeymoon traveling…here we are. What does one do with oneself when the cars in rush hour traffic can be counted on two hands, when one falls asleep to the tick tock of a clock instead of police sirens, when an adventure has to be created instead of choosing from infinite events? A person finds beauty in the details of life and has time to find the beauty.