







Here is what do on a hot day – gather round the pool!

The caption printed on this postcard reads “Forest Road Wilton N.H.” but for me the image is a country road and I place it in an adjoining town – Milford New Hampshire – and the road leads to my sister’s old farm. Years ago.

The writing is faint and hard to read but it might be a daughter writing to a sister about their Pa having difficulty breathing and the medicine the doctor prescribed
This card just cries out to me – it is written possibly by one of my ancestors.
A similar message could be constructed and sent by present day descendants.

Bringing the cows home on a summer evening. This photo was taken in Brandon in the far West of Ireland. An idyllic summer image.
On this hot day let’s think of another season and the joys of youth, as portrayed in this postcard from France.

I have found 3 small photographs in my mountain of memorabilia. My question is who took the three photos below? The photos date from the late 1940’s.



An essay by David James, of Fairbanks, Alaska, that is dead on.

Morality is not simple. It’s easy to hold absolute positions in the abstract, but when human realities intrude, what seems straightforward becomes complex. For instance, the Ten Commandments state, “Thou shalt not kill.” No exceptions. Yet the Bible is littered with exceptions, because it isn’t that simple. Our modern laws reflect this. Killing others is forbidden, but we make allowances for self-defense, warfare, and public safety. Self-defense is key, because to prosecute a person for defending themself against another is to victimize the victim. There is neither justice nor morality in this.
Days after the Supreme Court reversed Roe v. Wade, we are seeing this concept play out against an impregnated ten-year-old rape victim in Ohio. She was denied an abortion because the state had a trigger law take effect banning the procedure regardless…
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Yes my thoughts tend to be in zig zags.

Imagine running one of the great American marathons. Or, if you are in the kind of shape I am in, imagine jogging, then walking, and in the end possibly crawling to the finish line of an American marathon. Whatever your condition, by the time you reach the finish line you’d be in dire need of fluids, food and rest. Stillwater Marsh – for waterfowl and shorebirds enduring the marathon we call migration – is one such finish line. But now imagine that, after giving your all for twenty-six miles, you’re greeted at the finish by a sign that read:
SORRY. WE’RE FRESH OUT OF FLUIDS, FOOD AND REST AREAS HERE. YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO RUN ANOTHER TWENTY-SIX MILES TO ANOTHER FINISH LINE. MAYBE THEY CAN HELP YOU THERE.
David James Duncan, My Life As Told by Water, “Patching the Pacific Flyway,” p. 125.
David James Duncan is one of…
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