I heard of people scattering lawn clippings for them. Wish I could get my extra lawn cuttings and plant trimings to where they could do some good. They all go to the city composting site. I never buy that finished compost however, because it has too much glass in it. I see my neighbors put trash in their green waste containers all the time. *sigh* How I would love to live somewhere you might actually see a deer. We don't even get squirrels. Lucky for me our possums don't eat roses. I wish we could have some rain. It has been in the 90's everyday. It's a land of make believe here. Things are green because everyone is watering. But outside the boundaries of the freeways, things are so brown and dry. My poor shrub roses are shriveled and I cut the buds off to conserve energy for the plant. I feel sorry for you and the deer at once. Wishing for a wall for you. I'd like one too, not for deer but to keep out salesmen and missionaries and a people who litter my property with flyers and cards and real estate oppertunities, etc. I must get at least 3 or4 people every day wanting me to give them money for something. I'd trade them all for deer any day.

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time by Robert Herrick GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a-flying : And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may go marry : For having lost but once your prime You may for ever tarry. A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns My love is like a red, red rose ThatâÂÂs newly sprung in June : My love is like the melody ThatâÂÂs sweetly played in tune. As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I : And I will love thee still, my dear, Till aâ the seas gang dry. Go, lovely Rose by Edmund Waller Go, lovely Rose-- Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her thatâÂÂs young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die--that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee; How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair! The Sick Rose by William Blake O Rose thou art sick. The invisible worm, That flies in the night In the howling storm: Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy: And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy. Yes, there is a strong tradition of literary roses that have been studied over and over and over. If we had room, I could give you rose-inspired poems dating back to the Middle Ages, but they are rather long, so perhaps you'll settle for the brief survey above--Herrick 17th century; Burns 19th cent; Waller 17th century; Blake 19th century. Kate : )

Ang, I think that's great. We were hoping that as people had time that they would feel free to contribute. With Christmas activities, winter vacations and kids' activities getting in the way there is bound to be others who will post later on also. If you wish to skip an assignment that is fine too. The assignments seem to be going over well and that is what Sierra and I wanted to happen. Let's make picture taking this winter challenging but lots of fun. Brenda

Nice photo- bet the soup was good. One of the restaurants here used to have the best potato soup but they took it off their menu. I was probably the only person who ever ordered it.