About Blog Title...

As a child, it was one of my greatest delights to visit my grandparents in the spring when the whip-poor-wills began to call. Grandma and Grandpa lived in a remote valley of the Ozark Mountains where there were trees a plenty, and, seemingly, a whip-poor-will, or two, in each one.
My grandmother insisted that a whip-poor-will's call was not "whip-poor-will," but instead, "chip-butter-white-oak." I would listen really hard trying to hear it exactly as she said it was, but all I could hear was "whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will,..." But, I never let on to her.
I remember my grandpa watching and listening, with an amused look on his face, to one of these listening sessions. Shortly after that he began to call me, just for fun, "Chip Butter." It is a name I am proud to wear for I still love to hear that long, lonesome call on a warm summer's eve. And, sometimes, when I listen really, really hard, it seems I can hear quite clearly, "chip-butter-white-oak, chip-butter-white-oak..."

Wednesday, February 20, 2019


According to the calendar on which I make notations for each day of the year, today was eleven hours and six minutes long.  The sun rose this morning at 6:54 and set promptly at six o'clock not long after Millie and I made it back home.  If my addition is correct, we will gain fifteen minutes of daylight this week.  

I keep a running tab on the number of days I have made my daily pilgrimage over the hillside trail.  Today marked 491 walks without missing a single day.   Millie's record is at 490 days for you may remember the sad day when she was sick and wasn't able to walk.  Bless her heart!  

Our 490th walk today was such a delightful one.  Maybe it was because of yesterday, one of the dreariest days of the year, that today seemed so nice.  Even though there was still a chill in the air, the world seemed bigger and brighter than it had in a long time.  Small streams were rushing happily along because of yesterday's rain.  The meadows were painted in hues of pale green, looking as though some watercolorist had been at work.  I threw back the hood on my coat and breathed deeply, feeling for all the world that spring might be right around the corner.  Millie ran on ahead, exploring the countryside as though spring had already come.  


The cold, windy, and wet days of February have given me time to work in my sewing room.  I have been cutting, sewing and stuffing six dolls.  Six dolls that I am planning to be my last.  But, we shall see about that.

I have enrolled in another stitchery class, and have been trying all month to get caught up with the other students.  I always seem to be the last one in the class.  And, to think that I am a retired school teacher.  Shame on me!  Well, that's okay, for I always loved and adored those little stragglers.  I miss them still...

And, I did finish all sixty pages of my little handmade journal.  If I had known I would put so much effort into it, I would have used better paper.  My theme had to do with needle, thread and cloth, so that gave me the opportunity to include a few old prints of little girls with their dolls.  The pages below are a few of my favorites.

And, speaking of girls and dolls, the granddaughters invited me over a couple of days ago for tea with the Christmas dolls.  They were all dressed up and seated in little chairs at a small doll-sized table on the island in the kitchen where the tea setting was arranged.  My heart did a flip flop to see how sweet they all were - the pretty little dolls and the pretty growing-up-too-fast granddaughters.  What fun!

Sunday, February 3, 2019

A Journal...

A little grubby, imperfect journal, but I love it.  It is my first.