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Angle of Repose

Hmmmm, now where is my riding writing saddle? I can’t seem to locate it. It’s hard to get back into the saddle of things when it’s gone missing. Meanwhile, I hope I don’t forget how to type. But to be honest, I’m not feeling too sorry for my keyboard, because my bees, cows, chickens, grandgirls, and gardens are getting lots of attention these days. Also, my bike, the one I bought 35 years ago when my oldest was a toddler. Oh, and wildflower walks. Slow food. Naps. Tree planting—apricots and honey crisp apples. Campfires—I created a fire pit in the shade of my garden shed with two comfy Adirondack chairs for hubby and me (and visiting grandgirls). And kitty cat Jasper. And I built a chicken coop on my office balcony for Hilda and Matilda, two adorable, mellow Cochin Bantams who give me exactly two delicious eggs every day. Hilda and Matilda (named after my great-granny Hilda Matilda Stevens) get pampered with bowls of fresh milk from my cows, apples (they like Honey Crisp better than Gala), fresh worms I find while gardening, sunflower seeds, polenta, and wheat grass that I grow on lunch trays (future magazine show-n-tell). Slow. I’m in the slow lane, girlfriends. It’s been a long time coming. I’m finding my angle of repose (the steepest angle of descent relative to the horizontal plane to which a material can be piled without slumping), and it’s feeling mighty comfy.