Good-Bye Jerry Reed

Yeah here comes Amos
Now Amos Moses was a Cajun
He lived by himself in the swamp
He hunted alligator for a living
He'd just knock them in the head with a stump
The Louisiana law gonna get you Amos
It ain't legal hunting alligator down in the swamp boy

Now everyone blamed his old man
For making him mean as a snake
When Amos Moses was a boy
His daddy would use him for alligator bait
Tie a rope around his neck and throw him in the swamp
Alligator man in the Louisiana bayou
About forty-five minutes south of Tippitoe Louisiana
Lived a man called Dr. Mills South and his pretty wife Hannah
They raised up a son who could eat his weight in groceries
Named him after a man of the cloth
Called him Amos Moses

Now the folks around south Louisiana
Said Amos was a hell of a man
He could trap the biggest meanest alligator
And he'd just use one hand
That's all he got left cause an alligator bit it
Left arm gone clear up to the elbow

Well the sheriff caught wind that Amos was up in the swamp
Trading alligator skins
So he snuck in the swamp gonna get the boy
But he never came out
Well I wonder where the Louisiana sheriff went to
Well you can sure get lost in the Louisiana bayou
About forty-five minutes south of Tippitoe Louisiana
Lived a cat named Dr. Mills South and his pretty wife Hannah
They raised up a son who could eat his weight in groceries
Named him after a man of the cloth
Called him Amos Moses

I know son
Make it count son
About forty-five minutes south of Tippitoe Louisiana...

What's Up

Time has flown! Cole and I celebrated our 10th anniversary, Gillian has lost 2 teeth, I've got my milking doe and our herd of dairy goats is almost complete, and the new set of school books is somewhere on the way between Oregon and our home.

The air is getting quite crisp in the mornings, instead of milking Magil in shorts and a tee shirt I had to wear a sweatshirt and jeans this morning. We could see our breath!

Charles and Gillian (and I) were excited to learn that there is another family of homeschoolers quite nearby! When gas went over 3 dollars a gallon we started getting nervous about the long trips to park day. Hopefully we'll be able to make some nice friends closer to home.

Cinquain

This is the cinquain poem Charles wrote this morning. A cinquain has 5 lines each with a set number of syllables: 2,4,6,8,2.

Bella
Curious goat
Chair jumping little girl
Playful hopping friend to Clara
Short ears.

Kids

Thought I'd take a moment at lunch to post what the kids are doing... Human & caprine.

Charles is reading under the walnut tree while Bella & Clara graze nearby.

Gillian is in the goat house talking to Gypsy and Traveller.

What a beautiful Monday! Here's a poem...

Little Girl, Be Careful What You Say
by Carl Sandburg

Little girl, be careful what you say
when you make talk with words, words--
for words are made of syllables
and syllables, child, are made of air--
and air is so thin-- air is the breath of God--
air is finer than fire or mist,
finer than moonlight,
finer than spider-webs in the moon,
finer than water-flowers in the morning:
and words are strong, too,
stronger than rocks or steel
stronger than potatoes, corn, fish, cattle,
and soft, too, soft as little pigeon-eggs,
soft as the music of hummingbird wings.
So, little girl, when you speak greetings,
when you tell jokes, make wishes or prayers,
be careful, be careless, be careful,
be what you wish to be.

A haiku by Charles-

Ankylosaurus
Spiky, armored dinosaur
grazed on grassy plains.

Poetry month is turning out to be pretty fun for the kids. Gillian especially likes clapping out syllables. The kids and I enjoyed talking about the following poem - as summer approaches I vividly remember enduring the same frustration.

Bed in Summer
by Robert Lewis Stevenson
In winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candle-light. In summer, quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day. I have to go to bed and see The birds still hopping on the tree, Or hear the grown-up people’s feet Still going past me in the street. And does it not seem hard to you, When all the sky is clear and blue, And I should like so much to play, To have to go to bed by day?

April Continues...

THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US

by: William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

HE world is too much with us: late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not. -- Great God! I'd rather be

A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

9 Years Old!

Happy Birthday to Charles!
He turned nine on Monday. The Transformers cake was devoured, the Neoshifters were built in record time and the summer clothes are impatiently awaiting pleasant weather!