The snow is gone, probably because the temperature has climbed through the night and day to 57? and is supposed to hit 60K. Everything is wet and if you were using the moss on the north side of the tree for guidance out of this land hereabouts, you’re direction is would be well-marked. The sun is above layers of gauzy overcast and I would imagine anyone flying high up on a flight from San Diego to here would just about cry when the plane descended and entered the gloom.

I keep thinking: My ancestors settled this state – maternal in the north and paternal in the south . . . What WERE they thinking???

Anyway, I took my trusty – not really, it’s plastic – rake and went out back. It was like raking washcloths, wet ones, ones that had been used by a kid and left wadded up in odd shapes. I didn’t rake a whole lot, but those leaves were heavy and clinging to the ground. I picked up sticks too, although I really am not fond of that job; I sincerely suspect that some sticks hide and then pop out when I think I have got them all

Tonight it is to rain. And tomorrow is a high of 48? and wind. Yes!! Wind, I love it. Dear, dear wind, please dry us out. We need to dry out and have a temperature above 50? so  I can finish staining the fence. Last summer was so brutally hot that we put it off to fall and then the weather was just not good for painting. This is what happened: We painted and painted when we could and I told my grandson to just “paint around”  the one woodpile and we would move the wood and paint that part later.

We got caught and could paint no more, so we left the wood, until we needed a fire. Then as we drew wood from out variously seasoned piles, the unpainted portion of the fence appeared. It really stands out now. I’d post a picture, but WordPress has not resolved the upload problem – probably a good thing.

I am thinking of starting a fire to drive out the dampness and fill the air with the cozy and comforting (to me) scent of wood smoke. A couple of Yankee Candle tarts and we’ll be all set.

It wouldn’t be so bad in this state if at least it had a romantic and adventurous history. No one yearns to go to Indiana; to add insult to injury, we used to be the Northwest Territory. Not anymore, Oregon and Washington have that nickname – – and they also have mountains and seacoast and tales of horses and buffalo and all sorts of things. Excuse me, but I have never heard of the Indiana Trail.

Even North Dakota says rugged individual and strength of character. And it’s next to Montana, home of the Big Sky and Chet Huntley.

So why am I here? Shoot, that’s a darn good question. I don’t know, maybe it gives me confidence – I can face problems and say, “Ha! I am not fazed. I have lived in Indiana, the Great State of Non-Descript.

Have you ever heard, “Eli Manning, you just won the Super Bowl, what are you going to do?”

“Why, I’m going to Indiana!”

Oh, wait a minute . . . maybe I should have thought this sarcastic comment out.