"Mundane" Miracles

     As I walk my acres in late, snow-covered January with a February storm on the horizon, I reflect on the "mundane" miracles of last spring and summer.  I call them "mundane" because they are not spectacular events that will make the headlines anywhere, just miracles that God has incorporated into His creation.  They are, in a sense, natural miracles.  I'm afraid that too often our lives are surrounded by miracles that we just fail to recognize.  They are simple things that God is performing daily in our lives.  Life is a miracle.  We--I--need better eyes, a more sensitive heart--to see God's hand active in my life.  As the poet says, "Simplicity carried to extremes is elegance."  We serve an elegant God.
     The mundane miracles at Iten's Acres come in three forms:  survival, timing, and surprises.  The survival miracle is a testament to my stupidity.  I have a small rose of Sharon at the front of my property that I brought up here from Mom's property in South Carolina three years ago.  Sadly, accidentally, every spring with the first mowing of the new year I have cut the thing down.  And each year it has come back.  Three years in a row, no matter how sincerely I told myself to be careful and not mow the poor thing down, I whacked it none the less.  (I suppose after three years in a row it no longer qualifies as an accident.  I'm just brain dead.)  Last spring I was sure it would just give up and quit.  Not so.  In fact, it came back taller than it's ever been before.  I guess it figures that if it grows tall enough, the dumb human on the mower will see it next time.  It is a survivor.  God has put into it a "no quit" attitude.  Think what a miracle it will be when it grows tall enough to bloom! 
     The miracle of timing has to do with plants or seeds that I have planted years ago, and they have never bloomed,  In fact, I had no idea that they were even still there.  They were beyond hopeless.  I didn't even think of them as still existing.  Ah, wrong again.  Oh me of little faith.  Two of them were in the wild area--some red flax from South Carolina and some white monarda.  For five years God had them hiding there waiting to catch me off guard.  A miracle of perseverance.  The greatest mundane timing miracle of the spring was a day lily in the drainage ditch at the front of the property.  When I first moved here, I thought it would be great to have day lilies all over the small hill that runs from County Road 25 down to the ditch.  So, I planted a lot of them all along the front.  One problem.  The "hill" belongs to Morrow County, and they like to keep it mowed.  I came home from school one day and the hill was flat--goodbye lilies.  Yet, this spring, five years later, right down by the drainage ditch, behold! a beautiful orange day lily.  Take that big government!  I think I did a dance when I saw them. (Not a lovely image I imagine)  Beauty had been waiting for the right conditions and "bam," there they were. Unfazed by time. Took my breath away. 
     The miracles of surprises occurs every year.  I don't know who God's gardeners are--birds, the wind, animals--but every year I have new flowers come up and bloom, often in the least expected places.  This year it was trollius and bluets in the bog area, phlox in the wild area, bittersweet under the canopy (I know most people call them weeds; I love them.), and flower-of-an-hour in the middle of a flower bed.  The variety of miracles in God's bag of flowers is amazing.  I don't know what miracles He has planned for 2011, but I can't wait.
     There's just something marvelous about walking through God's creation and "discovering" "new" beauty.  I guess I'm just a strange old man, but I love--cherish--those moments, those miracles.  They enrich my soul.  Mundane miracles are exquisite.  You just have to look for them, and wait patiently for God's timing, and live in expectation of the glorious surprises.

Fresh Snow

     Walking Iten's Acres after a new snow is a delight--at least to this old man.  The snow has covered all the old footprints, the trees and posts have a new layer of white lace, the flurries as they swirl in the wind add a touch of beauty.  I often feel as if I am intruding on the peace, dirtying the new blanket laid down the night before.  My footprints reminders that I am an intruder on the scene.  I try not to look behind me at the wake of my destruction.  I suppose I should be as careful as the dogs and walk in my own footprints and limit my excursion to one path back and forth.  But, alas, I don't.
      I'll walk around the pond admiring the snow on the pine trees and looking for evidence of animal activity.  I love the gray of the old dead tree with its new white scarves.  I'm tempted to walk on the pond to see if it would hold me (fat chance), but I resist.  Even the dead tops of the cattails are beautiful in the snow.  Out back I walk all the way to the end of the property, through the trees, down the hill, along the paths listening to the wind play in my neighbor's pine woods.  Oboe or flute?  It's always changing. The deer love to take refuge in their covering.  The chickadees love the very back of the property and are usually ricocheting about, unafraid, filling me in on the latest Audubon news I guess, a perfect fit for a black and white world.  Someday I need to put a bench back here like the one by the pond and like the chair on the hill--a place where I can just sit and be drawn even more completely into the serenity.  My world is a black and white photograph of a place on earth that I love.  I don't even try to imagine what the wild area will look like come spring.  It is--in its own way--just as lovely now as then.  God is the consummate artist.  Whatever colors He is obliged to use, He uses exquisitely.  No offense, but I hope the new earth has days of freshly fallen snow on slate gray days.

The Myth of Neighborliness

     I must admit that one of the reasons I moved to the country was the myth of neighborliness.  No, I don't mean the myth exposed by Frost in "Mending Wall."  You know, "the good fences make good neighbors" lie.  And, of course, the Bible's view of neighborliness is not a myth.  We are to "love our neighbors as ourselves."  In fact, that commandment has received a serious upgrade.  "Love one another AS I HAVE LOVED YOU."  No, the myth I had in mind was that in the country where neighbors are more separated geographically, there exists a deeper concern and helpfulness than one would find in the city where folks live right next door to each other.  I must first admit that for the most part, I didn't find a great deal of neighborliness in an apartment complex.  Now, the problem may have been my naturally reclusive demeanor.  Nevertheless, it was difficult connecting.  I hoped, consequently, that the myth was true and that I would find good neighbors in the country whether there were fences or not.
    Guess what?  Speaking from my own experience--in other words I cannot claim that this is a universal truth--but I have found the myth to be true.  My neighbors are fantastic.  To the east I have Aaron and his wife Jessica and their two little ones Ella and Gage.  They have been friendly and helpful from the beginning.  Well, Gage is relatively new, but the rest of the family have been here since I first arrived.  Aaron has pulled my lawn mower out of a ditch, cut my grass when my mower broke, and even fixed a leak in my plumbing the first time I returned from taking care of my mom in South Carolina.  And it's not as if he hasn't had his own concerns.  The first winter I was here, his house burned to the ground!  And the couple of times I've been able to visit his church, I have enjoyed the old country baptist atmosphere.  Little Ella--she may be five or six by now--always shouts out "Hello, Al" whenever she sees me and often has a story to tell about school or friends or her little brother.  A little child's "hello" can do wonders for the soul.  I hope to hear the same from Gage one of these days.
     To the west I have Dennis.  He is a gentle man, a sure sign of inner strength and compassion.  He loves his animals--Bonnie, a couple of goats, and a couple of alpaca.  He feeds the birds, still gets excited when he sees deer, and wouldn't even hurt a groundhog or a squirrel I'm sure.  He's a better man than me!  Many are the times that we have had a nice neighborly chat over the back fence about life in general.  We have not solved the world's problems, just caught up on our lives past, present, and future.  The things neighbors should talk about.  And in the winter he always plows my driveway!  And trust me, it's not a little driveway.  The Hospice ladies join me in nominating him for sainthood after every snowfall.  When I first moved here, and he put his house up for sale, I was tempted to selfishly pray that he not sell it.  Thankfully, he's still here.   Good neighbors are hard to find--even when they live next door.  I've been blessed with two of them.
      So, as far as I'm concerned the myth is not a myth.  My country neighbors jump at the chance to help out a neighbor in need.  I need to be a better neighbor to them.  This I know, if I ever write a poem about neighborliness, it will end with this profound line:  "Good neighbors make good neighbors."

   

Confession

      Confession is good for the soul.
      I must then, in order to have a healthy soul, confess to two things concerning Iten's Acres.  First, not all the beauty found here is a result of my efforts.  Believe it or not, someone who lived here loved beauty before I even showed up.  In fact, some of the beauty displayed here has, no doubt, outlived its planter.  No, I'm not talking about all the wildflowers that God has been planting here for thousands of years, but some glorious things that some mortal has planted.  A little sadly, all of those things are in the front of the property; it appears the back of the acres has been "neglected" for quite some time, although the "lay of the land" suggests that once upon a time it was farmed.  But, since my immediate predecessor lived here for over fifteen years, it's been awhile since the farming occurred.   But then, can't a field of corn take your breath away in the morning sun?
     Anyway, the place came beautiful.  There were some gorgeous pine trees--see pictures of winter at Iten Acres--that are great snow catchers.  One is at least sixty feet tall and has stunning scarlet pine cones.  (Hester would be jealous.)  It has long outlived the person who put it there and will probably outlive me.  I hope so anyway.  And there's a lovely red maple that demands that you take a picture of it in the fall.  To not do so would be a sin--I'm sure.  Other beauties that preceded me are an old apple tree, an old dogwood, five or so crab apples, some ferns and bleeding hearts, and a redbud.  (Why do they call them crab apples?  Much too lovely to be assumed to be a crabby.)  There's also a wall of pink sweet peas near the bog.
     I find all this "pre-Iten" beauty encouraging.  Think of it, fifty years from now someone will walk this property and find some of the beautiful things that I have planted still going strong--or even going stronger than they are now.  It takes so little to perpetuate the beautiful.  To those who came before me, whoever you were, thanks for such an amazing gift!  I am trying to walk in your steps with my love for the creation.  As for the anonymity, I love that too.  After all, who is the actual lover of the beautiful?  Who is it that created beauty?  "For the beauty of the earth, for the glory of the skies, for the love which from our birth over and around us lies, Lord of all to Thee we raise, this our hymn of grateful praise."
     My other confession is that my "Eden" did not escape the curse.  Yep, weeds grow in my flower beds.  Some things I plant die.  The wild area has ticks in the spring.  (Jamie, my lovely daughter-in-law, thinks that's great.  Who knew she would major in entomology and come to my acres to catch ticks?)  Mosquitoes live here.  The cold, on occasion, freezes my well.  The snakes don't talk.  Squirrels (rats with bushy tails) and those cute little chipmunks (ugh) move my bulbs without even asking.  Deer think that I plant things to feed them.  My lawn mower breaks down and the grass keeps right on growing without the slightest bit of remorse. Yes, even at Iten's Acres, it's not a perfect world.  I just thought I'd mention that in case some of you have some vision of a place on earth that will not have any problems and struggles with it.  That's not a dream, that's a nightmare.  I choose to focus on the beautiful--and pull the weeds, and slap the mosquitoes, and let Jamie have all the ticks she wants, and fix the lawn mower, and . . . No matter what the problem, the beauty overwhelms it.  It's not even close.

     I'll only start to worry if one of the snakes asks me a question about my theology.

Paths

   There are, I suppose, several kinds of paths.  The interstate is a path of sorts--a nice wide path that went through everything that was in its way.  No doubt that included some lands and homes that belonged to people who were less than thrilled about having to give them up.  But it is a path used by who knows how many people every day.  And the builders did leave behind some ponds from the holes they dug.  That's a good thing, eh?  (Sorry, my prejudices are showing.)  All those "paths" go somewhere people need to be.
    I, too, have built some paths in my wild area.  They are narrow, overgrown at times--if my lawnmower ever dies, they will quickly cease to exist; it will only take one summer.  Some of them are redundant and would appear to be paths to nowhere.  That's because they are.  All paths were initially cut at random, and some of the paths have been returned to wildness and new paths have occasionally been cut.  I doubt if that will ever change because I am a person who changes his mind way too often I imagine.  Sometimes I have cut paths to take me nearer to clusters of wildflowers.  Sometimes I have filled up old paths with new wildflowers that I want to get naturalized into my wildness, and then I let that path return to its naturalness so the new flowers will look like they have always been there.  (Tricky, huh?)  I do plant flowers that are native to Ohio prairie lands (most of the time anyway).  That's good of me, right?  Of course, sometimes the naturalization doesn't take, sometimes it takes years--yes, years--after I've tried to start them and given up all hope, and  sometimes God just plants His own new additions to the wild scene--those are the greatest surprises.  My paths are kinda like museum aisles or grocery store aisles (different kinds of paths) designed to take you by the "good stuff."  This I know.  I love to walk through the paths in my wild area even in the dead of winter when there are no flowers to see.
     I, also, try to prove Thoreau wrong.  I try not to take the same paths every day.  Now, that's a little self-deception I know because I always walk all the paths every day; I just don't walk them in the same order.  And I'm not alone, by the way.  When I walk out there after a new snow, I find that the wild animals have walked my paths as well in their nighttime wanderings.  I'm always fascinated that the wild creatures prefer to walk on my man-mowed paths, rather than trudge through the brush.  But it's true.  In fact, my dog friends almost always walk in their own footprints.  They don't like to make new paths in the snow or even when the snow is gone.  Wild things are creatures of habit too.  I have a nice worn dog path right through the middle of my huge lily bed where Bonnie and Gus go back and forth over my property to visit each other.  Like the bulldozers that made the interstate they just walked over whatever was in the way.  (They do "fertilize" the garden now and then so I guess I shouldn't complain.)  I, being more sensitive to the wildness, try to walk around things, try to let things "in the way" stay "in the way"--even if they weren't in the way last time I walked there.
     I love my paths.  I walk them every day.  I don't mind sharing them with the wild creatures.  I'm glad I could make their lives a little easier. =)  I even love it that they are paths to nowhere--because they all end up here--on Iten's Acres.

Vision

     When I first moved out here a little over five years ago, I had a vision for what I wanted the place to look like.  The vision, of course, was for the outside.  I wasn't too concerned about the house itself--sorry ladies--but I made plans to beautify the acres.  I did re-do one of the rooms in the house--the library--and I did remove a "garage-like" structure that was in front of the house just so I could sit and see the entire front of my property.  That worked out well because the library is now my mom's room, and she can sit at the double front doors and see everything.  Hmmm.  I guess I had better not fix up anymore rooms. =)  Where would I put everybody?
     Anyway, my vision for the outside had the following goals:

      Number 1:  From March 15th until frost, a person (me--you if you drop by) should be able to stand anywhere on the property and see beautiful flowers or flowering shrubs and trees.  That goal has been accomplished, I think.  I have added 29 or so gardens/areas that contain flowers and flowering shrubs and trees.  And I try to add one or two more each year.  For example, last year I put in two single iris beds--beds in which all the iris will be the same color, a small wild flower garden, and a flowering tree "arbor" of sorts.  Not quite sure what I'll do this year, but I'll come up with something. =)
     Number 2:  Keep it wild.  No Better Homes and Garden attitude here.  Now, I have enclosed with wood and brick most of the gardens, but nothing "showy," I promise.  And I will enclose a couple of the other flower garden areas as well eventually.  But wildness is the theme.  I've let the bog grow up, let trees stay where they fall, left the driveway a path--no new gravel, let the wildflower area grow unfettered--thistles, and brambles are welcome.  The only exception I've made is to clear part of the back area.  And hopefully I will add a picnic table and chairs out there someday.
     Number 3:  Think future.  I have planted lots of things here--trees mostly--that will never bloom or mature in my lifetime.  They are for whoever gets this place after I'm gone.  Well, if I live to be 97 like my mom, I'll see them, but the likelihood of that are minimal at best.  I know there's a danger in this.  Solomonitis I call it.  Whoever comes after me may not be a flower lover.  They may mow down all the small trees and shrubs that haven't matured yet, and they may let the back grow up again because they don't want to bother taking care of it (mowing all that acreage).  There may be a Rehoboam coming after me.  I'll just have to find someone who loves flowers that I can leave my place to--if they want it.  I know Brad and Ben are city folks so they're not interested.  And I don't know if others that I have in mind can afford it.  Or could stand living in a shack for a while until they can update it to fit their standard of living.  But time will tell. 
     Actually, I hope I never get my vision totally completed.  What fun would that be to have nothing to add each year?  Yuk.  No winter of expectations.  A completed vision may lead to blindness.  And besides, just about every time I walk my acres a new idea comes to me.  Or when I talk to my mom, she comes up with something new to try.  Hopefully, stagnation will never set in.  So, today as I walk--snow and all--I will imagine the gardens in full bloom, imagine all the trees and shrubs grown and mature and being enjoyed by another lover of God's creation, imagine a new way to do things or a new way to make a section of the acres more beautiful, imagine . . .

The Outlaws Bonnie and Gus

     My good friends and neighbors are the outlaws Bonnie and Gus.  Many a day they join me on my walk on Iten Acres.  Bonnie is a black and white sheep dog and the leader of the gang of two.  Gus is a blond mutt; the happy follower of his lady boss.  Which is good, because Bonnie is the brains of the outfit. Proof?  When they are hunting ground hogs, Bonnie sits off  to the side patiently waiting for one of them to wander from his tunnel.  Gus stands over the tunnel with his face peering down the hole.  Not so bright.  And Gus has had MULTIPLE encounters with the neighborhood skunks.  MULTIPLE--enough said.
     What makes them outlaws?  They are country dogs.  Outlawed from the house, they spend their days living in the wide world--and loving every minute of it.  Oh, on really cold days Gus gets in the heated garage and Bonnie snuggles up in the hay bales in the alpaca/goat shed, but they enjoy their freedom.  No electric fence to tell them where they can and can't go.  They are free to roam wherever they please, whenever they please, at any speed they please.  And they are, also, totally free to just sit together with the cat and watch the world go by--no responsibilities here.  They wear no dog tags, are never lost.  If you run into them meandering through the fields or woods, you are probably the lost one, not them.  And they hunt without a license.  It's always rabbit or squirrel or groundhog season (or skunk season for Gus).  No wildlife office is going to tell them when they can or can't go hunting.  They are undeniably the outlaws Bonnie and Gus.
     Why do I spend my time with such rascals?  Why do I let them walk with me and tarnish my image as a law-abiding citizen?  Duh--they like me.  Whenever they see me coming, they race to see who can get there first to get the affection.  And when they both arrive, they jostle to see who can get the most affection.  Bonnie even has a beautiful jealous growl to remind Gus who the boss is.  Oh, and when I came back the last two springs after spending the winter in South Carolina with my mom, they were both ecstatic to see me return.  The lost "dog" had found his way home.
       In the history books to be written, I'm sure I'll just be portrayed as a hanger-on, an after thought to the antics of the real stars.  But no one will be able to deny that I was a friend and neighbor of the outlaws Bonnie and Gus.  They like me!  

Cold vs. Warm

      I confess:  I waited until this afternoon to take my morning walk.  Why?  It was very cold this morning according to the thermostat.  Yep, I'm a wimp.  To my surprise, though, when I took my walk after lunch, it was quite pleasant.  There was no wind--a rare thing out here in the country.  It was totally calm and felt warmer than it did last week when it was near thirty but windy.  I was tempted to take my chair to the top of the hill out back and just sit for awhile basking in the serenity.  I swear, you could touch the peacefulness.
      To be honest my warm-blooded friends I prefer cold in the winter rather than warm.  (No.  I'm not warm-blooded.  I was a teacher, remember.)  Why do I not like warm spells in the middle of winter?  Well, one reason is I'm paranoid.  I can just imagine a week or two of warmth deceiving my plants into thinking spring has come.  Up would come the flowers; out would come the leaves; then, back would come the cold.  Disaster!  I know, the chance of that happening in December or January or February is practically nil.  But still I worry.  I mean you can see the depth of my paranoia in that last sentence "practically."  I also let the warm day stir my expectations.  You see, winter is the time of expectations.  I spend the time imagining which of my new bulbs and plants are going to survive their first Ohio winter.  What new beauties am I going to get to enjoy next spring--and summer--and fall?  And what unexpected surprises am I going to have starting in the spring. (I guess "unexpected surprises" is redundant, eh?)?  Anyway, a warm day gets the expectation genes energized way too soon.  So, as Frost would say to my plants and gardens if he walked my acres with me:  "Goodbye, and keep cold."
     Warm, warm, stay away.  Come again some April day.

Snow Days

     The idea of snow days has changed since I was a teacher and appreciated those occasional surprise vacation days when snow shut down the world.  Now, a snow day is a thing of beauty.  I almost hate to take a walk on such days as these.  Everything is so pristine and "undamaged" by human invasion. My footprints seem like an unnecessary intrusion.  Other creatures have already traversed the acres and evidence of their journeys are everywhere.  Bonnie has obviously already headed over to see her buddy Gus sometime earlier this morning.  Her path is clear and purposeful.  And she is a creature of habit.  She almost always takes the exact same trail from her place to his.  She and Gus love the snow.  They frolic and chase one another.  Eat snow like any child.  Their fur coats, of course, keep them warm as the proverbial toast.  Thankfully, if I run into them on my own walk, they are delighted to include me in the frolic, though in my arthritic old age, I am not as agile as my companions.
     The land itself is gorgeous.  The limbs are "ridged inch deep in pearl."  A puff of wind sends huge flakes fluttering everywhere.  The red twig dogwoods stand out against their snowy backdrops.  Even the red of the brambles in the wild area look spectacular.  An old wooden post, a pile of brush, a stone--everything has been painted in white in contrast to the gray and black of the tree trunks, the reddish bench by the pond with its black lamp post, and the deep greens of the pines.  A silent winter walk in a white garden is a glorious thing.

Feeding the Birds

     One of the reasons I bought a home so far out in the country was because I wanted to revive my life-long interest--dare I say passion--for bird watching.  I was sure that there would be a host of birds and a good number of different varieties as well out here in the boondocks.  And such proved to be the case.  Yep, I got something right.  It has been a delight. From the taken for granted brilliance of the cardinals, to the changing beauty of the goldfinch, to the stunning contrast of the red and black of the rose-breasted grosbeak and even to the beauty of the "drab" sparrow I have enjoyed their antics and their beauty all around my acres.  Do I resent the sparrows?  Not at all.  I'm reminded of the poet who threw out some food in hopes of attracting beautiful birds only to have a flock of sparrows swoop in and eat it all.  Her frustration turned to joy when she recognized that the sparrows came "with such delight, never doubting their welcome."  And since "God's eye is on the sparrow," why not fill your yard with them? =)  Why not welcome them all?
     I know.   They don't need me to survive.  They've been doing quite well for generations without the help of man.  I do it then, admittedly, for my own selfish pleasure.  I enjoy their company.  And they don't mind the free lunch.  But, of course, the last two winters I was in South Carolina taking care of my mom, so that they were--like it or not--on their own.  When I brought Mom up to my place for last year's spring and summer, I set up a feeding station right in front of her windows so she could enjoy them each day along with me, the neighbor's cat, and an occasional "visiting" hawk.  Mom and Pop always loved feeding the birds as well.  Perhaps that's where I caught the obsession.
     This spring, however, when I bought Mom up to Ohio to stay with me until her homegoing, various conditions and restraints have caused me to give up my place in the food chain for the near present--reluctantly, and dare I say, with some sorrow.  The birds, of course, have not abandoned the property.  After all, they and their descendants have made this place home long before I got here.  They are their family trees.  But they have let me know of their dissatisfaction.  When I am out wandering the acres, they will fly to the bird feeders and look shocked that I have all those feeders up with nothing in them.  What could I possibly be thinking?  Even the hawk stops by to check things out.  The chickadees curse me as only a chickadee can.  The woodpeckers and nuthatches with their monosyllabic calls are no doubt screeching "Benedict" or some other traitorous epithet when I walk by.  The juncos and cardinals actually sit under my car in the midst of the snowfalls no doubt to point out to me that it's indeed cold and not easy doing things the old-fashioned way.  "Food in the feeders would be nice.  Get with it stupid human."  Alas.
     Hopefully, some day, I can resume my duties and fulfill my responsibilities.  Earn my right to live on their acres so to speak.  Until then I must walk in the snow and wind and endure the verbal abuse and object lessons.  At least, they have not yet resorted to the Alfred Hitchcock course of action!

Beginnings

I thought I would start a blog on my place here in the country.  Regardless of the weather or time of year, I walk the place every day.  Perhaps the place to begin would be to describe Iten's Acres.  It's really a cow pasture with an old barn-like structure on it that I call "home."  It's approximately six and a half acres.  The front of the property is fairly open though from late spring to autumn you would have a tough time even seeing the house from the road in front (County Road 25).  The driveway is more path than driveway, but I love it that way.  If there wasn't an old beat up mail box at the entrance, you probably wouldn't think that there even was a house back there.  The driveway is not straight but curves its way back to my abode.
There are three huge trees on the front of the property--a massive pine tree, a large old red maple at the turn in the driveway, and a majestic dead tree in front of the pond.  The pond is more bog than pond since most of it is enveloped with cattails--the noisy home of red-winged blackbirds most of the spring and summer.  Around the pond is a true bog; the product, I'm sure, of the digging of the pond.  By mid-summer the grass in here is over my head forming nice little pathways around the pond itself.
Around the house/cave/barn are a couple of pines and an old walnut tree.  Someday I will get rid of the walnut tree.
Almost directly behind the house is a strand of trees.  It's really quite small depth wise--maybe twenty yards, but in stretches the width of my property.  There is a small stone path through the woods to the back of the acres.
When I first arrived, the back of the acres was all grown up and wild.  I bush hogged the place and now it is open.  There is a small hill in back to the lower "plateau," a great deal of which I have let grow back to form a wild flower area.  I have mowed a number of paths through the wildflower area and left about ten yards behind it in grass.  Two-thirds of the property is in this back area.  I leave "margins" on the sides of the property even up at the top where I keep it cleared.
I have added twenty or so garden plots in the front of the property.  In the back, other than the wild flower areas, I've added a garden, a rock garden, and the beginnings of an orchard.
So, that's a brief image of Iten's Acres.  If you care to take my daily walk with me, than sign in on my new blogger from time to time.  And, of course, you're always welcome to drop by--if you can find it.