Not much to like about Russian olives

Goodbye summer; welcome fall.  I know, according to the calendar, Sept. 21 is the official “welcome fall” day. However, prospective athletes will celebrate the appearance of fall starting this week. That’s when aspiring athletes — middle and high school — were notified they should have their physicals, signed by their doctor, in hand when the practices for football, volleyball, and cross country begin.

Doesn’t seem possible, does it?

Where, oh where, did summer go?                        

Talked to Becky last weekend. She, with a crew of one, was going to get rid of some of the pesky Russian olive trees that have been cropping up on their property.  

The only thing “pretty” about a Russian olive is the odor in the spring. And if you’ve got allergies, a problem, too.  

Russian olives will grow anywhere and everywhere.  The government funded “get rid of Russian olives” a few years ago and was a huge success.  However, it ended and those malicious trees are back with a vengeance.  I remember the Greybull River used to have cottonwoods, willows, buffalo berries and a dozen other “people friendly” shrubs and stubs.  Then came the ROs and nearly everything disappeared. The Russians ruled.

I asked Becky if she and her “hired hand” would just follow the ditch right down by my place, but she didn’t sound very enthusiastic.

And the little pear tree John planted three years ago has five pears on it now. Not very big ones, Scott said, but it is five more than it had last year or the year before.  Am sure John is looking down and smiling over the “big harvest” we will have.

Finally got to meet my new great-granddaughter. I say “finally” but I know she is only nine days old and has a host of grandmas, grandads and cousins by the dozens, so I shouldn’t complain.

To these unprejudiced eyes, she is beautiful, from the top of her head, covered with soft brown hair, to the tips of her toes — and yes, I checked, there were five toes on both feet. She slept quite comfortably in my arms for almost two hours. 

There is nothing warmer than a house with a baby in it. To sit and rock my new great-granddaughter for two hours, I think both she and I enjoyed it immensely.  With a name like Viola Josephine, she certainly should grow up to be a person of great importance.  I just hope she grows up to be an intelligent, pretty, young woman with good values and with a strong moral character and deep love for her family.