Today I start my push for the summit. Naw, just kidding. Today’s trip will be anything but heroic. I’m simply going home.

I like old river towns. There are lots of curves. Roads follow the river, and rivers curve. Wichita is like that.

There was a time when hotels played a big role in my life. Now? Not so much.

Heading north to Wichita. I wonder if any of my relatives every drove cattle this way. Probably not.

This past spring, I added a Gregg’s Mist flower to my plant collection. It’s done well. So, has the garden spider.

A midnight storm woke me up. Lightning crashed and thunder rolled. But like a passing goodbye kiss or a quick hug, it was gone before I knew it.

I have a small quandary, about the size of a bread box.

It’s always interesting to put new plants in the ground and see how they do.

I spent most of the day yesterday in a state of anticipation.

We’ve had swallows since the first year the stone walls of our house went up;

Yard work is nearly bearable when the weather is cool, and it was cool yesterday.

Well, this feels nice. It’s 63 outside this morning. I actually discovered this around 3 a.m. when my internal clock kicked me awake.

They patched the potholes on my street yesterday. A big front-end loader waddled up from city hall, which is just down the road a bit, its bucket full of asphalt.

Dad joke time.

Pretty and pink pretty much describes the current state of my gardens.

Once upon a time I bought an alarm for my front gate. I was monitoring the comings and goings of my late wife whose dementia made it dangerous for her to be out and about unattended.

The nice thing about tile floors is they allow you quickly to stomp a scorpion when one makes it into the house.

It’s been a good summer for our pink turks caps. Actually, it’s been a good summer for everything.

And I wonder, if I only had one job to do in this life, that maybe planting one tree was a good thing to have accomplished. No one will write a story about me, but the world will know, or at least this part of it.