Maria climbed into the woodshed to cover the wood overflow with tarps to keep it dry for the winter. She is my Willa Cather girl. I heard the hammer and went to check. I can’t imagine how she got up there and then down.

The lonely hen, getting old, left behind. Nature is rough on its citizens.

Zip ambushing Zinnia, every morning. They are pals.

Mad dog. I love the look on Fate’s face when she wants to be told to get the sheep. She is never happier or more willing. And she never quits, even at such a great distance.

 

Manure throw, our fertilization of the pasture.

 

Lulu, Fanny, in the rain, asking for good, black and white.

 

Still life, living room.