Faithful readers, both of you, know how much I love where I live.

True. There were some challenges last week, but just living in this beautiful place where I have found  “community” makes coping doable.

First, St. P.’s worked valiantly to minister to a refugee family.

Although we were saddened that this turned out to be an abortive attempt to meet their cultural needs,  we sent them on their way to what we hope is a good new home.

The other challenge was our sweet Rosie’s diagnostic surgery.  Our neighborhood vet clinic, where Rosie and Roxie and I, along with previous beloved family companions, Kobe, Lula, and Blue, have been cared for in times of concern and sadness, is such a great comfort. Everyone who works there is a family friend.  Rosie’s extensive test results are pending.  In the meantime, she is back to her old self, resting up during a Sunday nap with Roxie and me. (Be sure to get the full details of this relaxing time by noting the bra hanging over the chair in the background. My legs are thankfully concealed under the quilt.)

Moving on to more of the reasons I love it here, one day Roxie and I walked over to St. P.’s to drop off some bay leaves from our tree for a stew-making project in the church kitchen.  Saw some beautiful spring stuff and some eccentric art objects on the way.

This was in our pathway on the corner of High and Rural:

This in a carport:

At which Roxie barked ferociously.

One evening, I went to an evening artists’ open studio event at  Willamette Heritage center.  I took this to send to the artist’s mother, who is a friend:

The things I love about this town range from the ridiculous to the sublime, and sometimes, I’m not sure which is which.

I love it that a big insert in the local paper on Saturday  was this:

How do you not love a place where folks look to tractors to realize their potential?