Gentleman Caller

Not until he moved did I see the two-point buck at the edge of the shadow in the front pasture, and then I saw his two ladies over toward the right.  (Click on the picture to expand.) Bess had told me we had visitors, so we stepped out on the deck to greet them.  Our hospitality was evidently acceptable because when we went out at dusk to put the girls to bed, this handsome gentleman and his girlfriends were out by the goat pen.  They took off down into the woods before Bess caught sight, which was a good thing.  I don't think she could have resisted giving chase.

Dislike of dusting is hereditary.  My mother hated to dust.  She said that was why she had girls, so she could pass on that chore to us.  Not only that, she planned it carefully.  I was born on my sister's sixteenth birthday so that by the time my sister was ready to leave home, Mother had a trainee waiting in the wings.  When I was a kid, we had dark mahogany furniture (do they even make mahogany furniture anymore?) with filigree curlicues.  It showed every speck of dust and fingerprint.  Lemon oil was her polish of choice.  Zesting a lemon now takes me back in time and I feel I should pick up a dust rag.  I spent a good portion of the afternoon on Labor Day dusting.  I hated it.