Aunt Bill Rambles
Well, yestiddy was the longest, dreariest day I ever seen and we didn’t have nair bit a-company. My daddy would-a called hit a raw day and raw it was — at 3:00 o’clock hit was 38 degrees and drizzlin’ rain.
We set on this sun porch (without sun) and I worked on a jigsaw puzzle and John done some bird watching. We cooked breakfast food fer lunch and had some of them purtty eggs I told you about. They’s good, too — good, fresh eggs with bright yeller yolks. I wonder how old them we buy in the store is? Y, they ain’t no tellin’. Home growed sausage, homemade biscuits, fresh eggs and jelly of different kind makes a purty good lunch.
We don’t have as many different kinds of birds here as we did in Georgie – maybe hits because they have plenty of places to find food in the wild. Today we seen Finches, Sparrows, Blue Jays, Cardinals and I saw Mrs. Bluebird pecking at some cracked corn John had sprinkled on the driveway fer the guinea and later John say her mate in the tree. The picture I’m using today ain’t been made today — hit wuz made last spring. Usually later on we’ll have a Red Bellied Woodpecker — he will poke sunflower seed in a hole in the tree trunk and next spring he’ll bring his young’uns up here and teach them how to git the seed. Once in a while we’ll have a Downy Woodpecker, but not much. In Georgie we had a Flicker every day and he wuz the prettiest thang — he’d set on the ground and eat. There we had a pair of Towhee’s that come by ever day. They scratch the ground with both feet at one time. Here we’ve ain’t never seen but one male — wonder where the female is.
I’m aiming to make some homemade suet fer ‘em and when I do I’ll give you the recipe — in the meantime be a-savin’ yore bacon drippings, or lard of any kind. I use that and some old cereal that we’d got tired of, peanuts, oatmeal and little bird seed. We have a empty wire suet feeder and I try to shape the suet so hit’ll go in the feeder. I freeze hit and use as needed.
Wish you could set here and enjoy this slow-paced country living.
The Bluebird