I am sorry these pictures are so small. I think Photobucket did it. I decided to go ahead and publish them since I can’t retrieve the pictures from my old computer anymore. I have added a few quotes about leisure to the sidebar on this Labor Day.

Here is Deputy Fife practicing for his life calling in a spare moment when he was not drowning frogs in the greenhouse. I never knew.

And here is Emily sitting under the cherry tree in Greenwich. This picture is interesting to point out the plowed field behind her. Timothy and I spent many a spring day planting that garden and it was truly beautiful.

And here we have James helping in the garden. Nicholas and Timothy are probably trying to figure out how to destroy the greenhouse plastic. They succeeded.

And here are the three amigos with the prize pumpkin:

That would be Timothy (no shirt), Nicholas and James(curly heid) for those who can’t tell them apart.

And just for memories sake I will leave you with one of my favorite poems.

CUDDLE DOON

(open the above link in a new window to hear the audio while reading.)

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht

Wi’ muckle faucht an’ din;

O, try an’ sleep, ye waukrife rogues,

Your father’s comin’ in.

They never heed a word I speak;

I try to gi’e a froon,

But aye I hap them up, an’ cry,

“O, bairnies, cuddle doon.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Wee Jamie wi’ the curly heid—

He aye sleeps neist the wa’,

Bangs up an’ cries, “I want a piece”;

The rascal starts them a’.

I rin an’ fetch them pieces, drinks,

They stop awee the soun’;

Then draw the blankets up, an’ cry,

“Noo, weanies, cuddle doon.”

XXXXXXXXX

But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab

Cries oot frae ‘neath the claes,

“Mither, mak’ Tam gie ower at ance—

He’s kittlin’ wi’ his taes.”

The mischief’s in that Tam for tricks,

He’d bother half the toon;

But aye I hap them up, an’ cry,

“O, bairnies, cuddle doon.”

XXXXXXXXXX

At length they hear their father’s fit,

And as he steeks the door,

They turn their faces to the wa’,

While Tam pretends to snore.

“Hae a’ the weans been gud?” he asks,

As he pits aff his shoon;

“The bairnies, John, are in their beds,

An’ long since cuddled doon.”

XXXXXXXXX

An’ just afore we bed oorsel’s,

We look at oor wee lambs;

Tam has his airm roun’ wee Rab’s neck,

An’ Rab his airm roun’ Tam’s.

I lift wee Jamie up the bed,

An’, as I straik each croon,

I whisper, till my heart fills up,

“O, bairnies, cuddle doon.”

XXXXXXXX

The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht,

Wi’ mirth that’s dear to me;

But sune the big warl’s cark an’ care

Will quaten doon their glee.

Yet, come what will to ilka ane,

May He who sits aboon

Aye whisper, though their pows be bauld,

“O, bairnies, cuddle doon.”

—ALEXANDER ANDERSON.

Now doesn’t that bring a tear?

(Sorry about the X’s but this new template is temperamental about code.)

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