Hurricane Dolly In Nebraska?

Yes, that's true. What's left of hurricane Dolly, which ripped through Texas and Northern Mexico, did a sharp right turn and headed north. Now downgraded to heavy thunderstorm status, its remnants have taken dead aim at Alma and will pass through here in the next twelve hours or so. I intend to be sound asleep, but with the windows open for the cool night air, it might wake me up, who knows.

This is my neighbor, Steve, who is usually my fishing partner, with a couple of largemouth bass he caught at the lake. Unfortunately, I didn't get any keepers that morning. Minimum size limit here is 15 inches for largemouth and 18 inches for walleye.

It is said that in the world of fishing, 10% of the fishermen catch 80% of the fish. Steve is in the 10%. I am not. Most people around here agree that he is the most knowledgeable shore fisherman in town. Since I don't have access to a boat (rental is $150.00 per day), learning where and how to fish from the lake shore is what I need, so I generally fish with Steve. My specialty seems to be centered on catching fish one half inch shorter than the limit.

Ah, well. Since I support the belief that every moment spent fishing adds an equal amount of time to the length of a person's life, I am not discouraged by my inability to drag in keepers like Steve does.
This, of course is the walkway where my daughter and I go walking next to the lake. That tree limb bridging the path doesn't belong there. It is the unfortunate victim of some really high winds that came roaring through here a couple of weeks ago. The city was inclined to simply leave it as is until a second windstorm zeroed in on Alma.

Yep, down came the limb even lower. When my daughter, Eva (who is 5' 1"), can't walk under it, it's too low. The next day the limb was gone and the trail was back to normal.

This is one of the little meadows along the trail. Notice how the lowest tree branches on the trees in the background all seem to be the same height from the ground? That's courtesy of the local deer population which keeps it trimmed as high as deer can reach as they feed off the new and tender green growth. Maybe we should look at the deer as mother nature's gardeners.

After a lifetime in Southern California where everything turns brown in the summer, the green here can seem overly intense. Even in so-called drought years, there is enough summer rain here to keep things bright green. It's a big, big change. When I explain to the local people that when the end of May rolls around in L.A., there will be no rain until late November or early December, they seem at a loss to fully digest that piece of information.

Eva is quite proud of the fence surrounding the vegetable garden at her house, which she and her fella put up to keep the deer out. Unfortunately, one night the determined deer knocked one side of the fence down and feasted on the tender new growth. An angry Eva, who is not a hunter, nonetheless said, "I don't care how many kiddies love him. If I catch Bambi, I'm serving him for dinner."

Such is life on the prairie.