Our town had a successful tornado siren test last week. Then, days later, we had a tornado warning as a ferocious storm came through and the siren didn’t go off. Then it went off randomly at just after midnight today, on a clear and lovely night. So all is going well here.
Posts in: Memories
Resolution: fall asleep in the sunshine more often
Visit to Native American Mounds
I visited a few southern Indiana mounds last Friday. Taking the last visit first, I went to the Angel Mounds site in Evansville. I highly recommend it if you’re in the area. The indoor museum was recently renovated and the videos are all well done. I recommend that you visit outside of school hours (the place gets a lot of field trips) since it allows you to walk the grounds in peace and imagine the lives of the people.
Ancestor shrine
I’ve moved my ancestor shrine back downstairs where it can be in a more actively used part of the house. Left to right: A bell used by my maternal grandfather to start Sunday School, which he oversaw for 30+ years. Picture of my dad holding a fish, standing next to the 1977 GMC Caballero which passed from my uncle to my grandfather to my dad to me, until I decided it was a bit too cumbersome for an heirloom and sold it.
The beautiful Wabash, and Francis Vigo looking like he’s just been surprised on the toilet
Wheatland, IN. One of those little southern Indiana towns with dilapidated structures that give evidence of past prosperity. Railroad tracks run right through the middle. This is farm country, so maybe a place where the area’s products left for market? There’s still a lot of semis running through.
Setting out on my trip to Vincennes and Evansville mounds with the full moon ahead and pink sunrise behind. Feels propitious.
It’s been another beautiful day. Dark now, but the back door is still open. It’s good to hear kids playing in the neighborhood.
It’s a beautiful spring day here. Rachel is outside giving our pond its spring cleaning. I’m inside preparing a budget presentation. One of these things is more fun than the other.
We heard a hawk call while we were doing some transplanting, looked up, and saw three(!) of them. Every time I see a hawk I think of the Robinson Jeffers’ poem title: “give your heart to the hawks.”