August . . . what can I say? It's hot. It's muggy. It's the time of year when Floridians stay indoors or spend weekends on the water. My sunflowers are brown. I have one tomato between two sickly plants but I'm super excited by eleven ears of corn. The stalks they sprouted from don't look sturdy enough to support a corn cob so I'm curious to see how this ends.
The babies born this spring are growing up. We've spotted the peafowl family several times but too early in the morn to take good photos. Full feathers have replaced the chicks' down and I've even seen a male pop up his baby tail feathers. For the last three weeks, we've been feeding a feral cat family in the yard behind us. The house is empty and the yard overgrown. We pop a board off our fence three times a day to fill the food and water dishes. The mama quickly adjusted to our presence and her two kittens are starting to trust us. I wonder about the mother. Was she left behind by a stressed family? The shelters are full of animals, victims of the economy. We're trying to help this cat and her kits find good homes. I pray their story continues with long lives in loving families.
If I'm not writing YA, I'm reading, drawing or hanging out with my husband and Catahoula hound. And my days don't feel right if I don't have a dose of horses, cows or wildlife.
Baggott, Asher & Bode
Rear in Gear
Kate DiCamillo on Writing