SUNDAY MORNING FARMER MARKET We're back from the nearest farmer's market after a weekend infusion of vegetable beauty. Stand after stand of tomatoes, peppers, onions, sweet corn, radishes, cabbages, all delighted the eye. As we strolled along, a wealth of music filled the air. The African American harmonica player set the white poodle dancing in the street. One guitar player plinked out toe taping tunes. And a little girl who played the violin, with her mother accompanying her drew a crowd. She played "Casey would waltz with the strawberry blond and the band played on." Bob asked her to dance and she gave him a funny look. "I don't think she knows the words," he murmured to me, and we hurried on our way. Dogs,s dogs, of pure and mixed breeds behaved beautifully. Little kids stood entranced over wooden pumpkins and birdhouse. We traveled on to admire eggplants of all sizes and colors. We tasted jams and jellies. Breads and cookies. Meat samples. Popcorn. It was so filling visually that we didn't buy much. A bag of tomatoes from Decatur, NE and a bunch of kohlrabi to slice and salt for a bit of crunch. Our senses sated, we smiled and waved goodbye.

THE OMAHA SKY EXPLODES WITH BIRDS. My daughter, Fae, invited me to drive down to the Nebraska Med Center before sunset to skywatch with her. She packed a cooler of grapes, crackers and Hatch chili cheese, and with Bob's sister Marilyn, we set off. "I've heard there are two spectacular bird events in Nebraska," Fae told me. "Sandhills Cranes and Omaha Purple Martins." If there are others to compete, I hope to hear about them. We set up portable lawn chairs on the corner of 44th and Farnam, under a large pine tree. We prepared for - not a countryside, but a city showstopper. The traffic lights flashed at the intersection, cars and trucks sped along, or halted on red light command. Bikes rolled past and people of all ages walked by. Then, birdwatchers arrived from all directions to sit on the grassy slope across from the tall Med Center buildings, or to find another spot to view the event. Looking up at the sky, dots appeared high, high up. More and more specks swam in the clear blue. Specks became birds and we watched the Martins swirl around, losing altitude as they checked out the Farnam St. airstrip. A few birds plopped down on the edge of the high buildings, forming a long row of winged spectators. Soon purple martins divebombed into the tops of the dense Ash trees that marched around the Med Center. An ambulance swept by, siren calling the alarm, but the birds took no notice as the vehicle dashed up the street immediately next to their tree roost. Flocks of birds continued to come from all directions, first flying high above us, then dropping down. The numbers increased, until it was unbelievable. The sky was thick with them, and the birds came closer and closer, right above us. Apparently the birds arrive from a 100 mile radius and choose this site because of surrounding staging places, the warmth provided by the grouping of the buildings and the comforting, heavy foliage of the trees that landscape the 44th and Farnam St. corner. Estimates range from 25,000 to 65,000 birds visit this spot during the migrating August and September season. All we know is that it was an endless storm of dark birds flying above, circling down, roosting and then flying up again, only to play their fly/zoom trick again. We watched the Purple Martin airshow until the sun went down. The sky began to clear as the last diminishing flocks of birds swooped down and disappeared into tree greenery. The bird spectators on the building roofline joined their compatriots and we heard the song of Martins chattering whenever the traffic noises softened. We closed our mouths. We packed up. We'd watched the astonishing assemblage of Purple Martins getting ready for their long trip south. And we headed home.

A DEBUT OF SORTS. About Computers, remembering our first one. It was years and years ago when Bob brought home a Radio Shack box and a special desk to set up in our sun room. He poked around on it, learned its habits, taught me and then the kids how to compute. I was reluctant to use it for creative writing and couldn't believe it would make my life any easier. But I relented and tried to think and write on the TRS-80. Didn't do well. Then, I typed a script I'd already written into the computer and printed it out. Wow. I saw how easily I could make changes, how quickly paragraphs could be moved around, how copies could chug out in great numbers. It didn't take long to convince me and I've never looked back. These days, if my computer has a problem, it's like a friend of the family is ill. I pace the floor waiting for computer good health to be resumed. But now I'm back learning about social media. I admit I'm creeping slowly into the game. Started a blog, but didn't tell anyone until I was comfortable. Guess I'm ready to debut.

CURIOSITY. I've decided that it is one of the most important qualities that makes my life worthwhile. I don't understand those who are not interested in the fabric of things around them. Years ago, I sat in an outdoor restaurant patio one day with a sandwich and lemonade. We were traveling through California and it was a place I'd never been before. Next to the patio grew a beautiful tree with lovely shaped leaves. I admired it so much that I asked the waiter what it was. "I don't know," he said. "Do you think anyone inside would know?" "I don't know," he said. After I paid my bill, I went in and sought out the manager. He didn't know either and obviously, didn't care. I left without being able to name this beautiful tree. If it happened today and I had a cell phone, I'd take a photo and go home to the computer and ID it. Amazing Google, right? But that day, as I left I thought, how sad that this beautiful thing lived next to someone's workplace and it wasn't noticed. I wrote an essay called "Lint & Light" that's in our book,"The Desert Eternal" and published later in "The Art of Living, A Practical Guide to Being Alive", a book edited in Spain, but with an English as well as Spanish version. Someday I'll blog about that. The premise of my essay came from an art professor, Rhinehold Marxhausen, of Concordia College in Seward, NE who talked about noticing the things around us, something as simple as the design of the cracks in the sidewalk. He took colored lint from the dryer and made abstract art work from it. I still have one of his works. I suppose he taught me about seeing. But curiosity goes deeper. It would explore all sorts of things about that tree. Recently I was told there's a Catalpa sapling outside our house, along the pond's edge. I don't know anything about Catalpas, so now I'm off to find out more, feeding my curiosity.

VIVE LE TOUR. Each summer I go on a vacation to France, well, not really. With devotion, I watch 3 weeks of the Tour de France and I 've done so for about ten years. I can't remember how it started, and I didn't know anything about cycling, but I loved the 2 British men who commented, Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen. They talked of the Tour with its crashes and complicated race within race, and explained the rules and gave background, but they also commented on scenes of the countryside as more than a hundred cyclists went whizzing by. Lavender fields, maize fields, sunflowers. White cattle that are born brown. Special white vultures. Red and grey roofed villages and towns and cities. War memorials. Cathedrals, chateaus. The beaches, the Alps and the Pyranees. And not only do the athletes cycle in France, their bicycles tip into Belgium, Italy, Spain, Germany and any other country akin to France. One year they started in Great Britain. The race ends in Paris on a wild ride around the cobbled streets of the Champ de Elysee. Oh yes, Bradley Wiggins from Great Britain won the gold jersey, the first time in history Great Britain caught that great prize. Funny thing is, I don't even know how to ride a bicycle with gears. But I love it. When we lived in Arizona, I even set my alarm for 4:30 on mountain mornings. I liked watching it live. As I mentioned, I'm a devoted fan.

A DAY LATE
With the photo. I was going for a small postage stamp, to the side, but that skill will come later evidently. So hope all will imagine the cover under my face and in a polite size.
   In nature news, a Blue Heron stopped by our bank yesterday, or so I've heard. He's on our pond, visits next door in the afternoons, and has for 20 years so I'll be on the lookout. I've never spotted him.
   I'd intended this blog to be about recipes that haven't turned out, but was distracted when our neighbor phoned to tell me about the bird. I rushed outside, but he'd flown away. Back to food.
  Ever so often, I make an old favorite and it's a disaster. Yesterday, the family came over and I made an old favorite, cucumber sandwiches. The simplest recipe. Roll white bread slice thin, add thin covering of mayo to one side, cream cheese to the other, cucumbers on top, onion salt, that's it. How could that go wrong? The bread was very fresh and rolled down to a thin height. I made the sandwiches ahead and wrapped in sandwich bags. I used whipped cream cheese. The result: a soggy mess that everyone politely ate, but I was sad. A family tradition ruined. Will I try again? I suppose so after an embarrasing interlude goes by. Send any other hints.

SO I'VE QUIT LOOKING OUT THE WINDOW and must now get to work. Our book "Cowboys & Wild, Wild Things", my writing and my husband Bob's photography has just been released by Amazon, in paperback and also for Kindle. It's cowboy and western poetry/free verse. Although we've published and been published traditionally, this is our first foray into ebook land. We had no idea there would be so much to learn. We're happy to have advice or input from anyone, writer/reader/candlestick maker. The Kindle version already has some really good reviews, but the paperback has none. It's a whole new world and we're running to catch up.
   I said I would quit glancing out the window, but 3 Canada geese just wandered by and plopped down in the green grass shade by the pond. If geese could read, I'd race out and barage them with questions about western poetry, since that's my focus this morning. Luckily they're safe from interruption, and will add a peaceful point of view to a day destined to be in the 100's.