La Sonya

Dear Diary, Strange things are happening. We went to Bodie to visit all of our friends and when we arrived not one person was there! Sister Annabelle and I looked all over the town for our friends. I looked at the mercantile, I looked in the sage fields, up and down main street, I even looked in the church. Turns out Bodie's now a ghost town. What was once a very large booming 'metropolis' with about 10,000 people is now a dusty old ghost town population 0. Sister Annabelle and I were disappointed that all our friends were gone from Bodie. We had wanted to visit the one armed Sheriff, Dog Face George, Anne, the nice lady who married the Butcher and left her life of sin on Virgin Alley and so many other lovely people. But alas we at least got to wander around town and wonder what life must have been like 100's of years ago when gold was flowing out of the california hills.

One day I hope Sister Clare Mae can come visit us on the homestead.

Dear Diary, Tomorrow Sister Annabelle and I will journey from the homestead. We are going to visit our friends in Bodie, California. I hope to see all our friends and to buy some new ribbon for my bonnet. We shall travel by our favorite mode of transportation and go through the valley, over the mountains and arrive in only a few hours to the town. I haven't heard from our friends in a few weeks but they know of our coming, for I have been planning this visit since I first came here from Texas a few months back. I am so excited about sitting down and sipping tea with Sister Annabelle and our friends in Bodie. Well I had better go off to bed now so that I can be plenty rested in time to leave for my great adventure! Here's to visiting friends in Bodie, California. Goodnight Love, Sister Josephine

The legend of Open Hand. Long ago in the land of the Miwok The youngest maiden of the land. Was honestly named for her truthful talk. They called her Open Hand. She wasn't afraid to say What her heart deemed to be true The people believed, come what may That she would keep her heart from few The days went by like a tanning hide As she walked and talked with the people of the land She opened their minds to what was inside. As no other, they loved Open Hand One day as she was exploring the trails She happened upon the Bewilder Bear. The people for years had told her the tails Of the Bewilder Bear and the mysteries that it would share. Never before had the people found this bear To meet him and ask him a question Was to be done cautiously and with care For Bewilder Bear could become an obsession. As the question formed in Open Hand's mind She spoke with what she hoped was truth For she had always wanted to befriend his kind And find depth to talk with the other youth. Then Bewilde

The Chowchilla church is here this weekend. It's also my weekend off. I was able to go to a church service today. The children's story and sermon got me thinking about many things. 1. Heaven. Wow, that's going to be great. Besides all the amazingness of the obvious-Heaven. Just think I can catch my Grandma up on all that she has missed out on since 2006. I can tell her how God has been helping me grow, even if it has been rather painful at times. I can chat up a storm with Moses and get the scoop from Joseph on how badly 'his bowls did yearn' . I can snuggle with a lion, boogie with a penguin, fly with a humming bird. I can talk to 'my kids' from Honduras, fluently in a common language, I can dance with my famil from Tchad . There are just so many things that I want to do. Mainly I want to sit with Jesus. I'm not even sure if I will want to start talking right away. In fact I'm sure I won't. I think I will need some time to just sit. To just b

There are days in my life that are hard. that I want to plead with God to show me what my future holds. that I need to be told I am wanted, that I contribute to my friends life Most recently though, There are days when I cry. However it might be because I've been chopping onions. I think it's a bit of a sad deal that I get so teary over onions. After all my mom's maiden name is Loignon. Which in French is L'oignon and that equals onion. Maybe it's all part of my genetics to sob when I chop onions. Maybe my ancestors were given the name Loignon because they cried when they chopped onions? Perhaps I am simply fulfilling my role in the Loignon clan and crying when I chop. Either way, There are days when I cry.

Here’s the deal, I’ve always wanted to help start something big. I’ve wanted to do something bigger than myself, to contribute to an organization that is making a difference. And now I’ve got the chance, now you’ve got the chance. Small Steps for Compassion is building from the ground up an orphanage in Tanzania. They are in the beginning phase of construction. Step one is get a functioning well dug so the home will never run out of water. Their goal is to have the money in to start digging the first of January. As a member of the starting committee they have asked me to pledge $2,000 to go towards the well. I think it can be done. I want to ask you, my family and friends, if you will help me raise that portion of the money. Without this well there will be no home for the children; there will be no opportunity for the children to grow up in a beautiful Christian home much like you and I did. They need your help and I need your help. If you are interested in making a tax deductible dona

Ansel Adams photograph Autumnal Nightfall Round Autumn's mouldering urn Loud mourns the chill and cheerless gale, When nightfall shades the quiet vale And stars in beauty burn. 'Tis the year's eventide. The wind, like one that sighs in pain O?er joys that ne'er will bloom again Mourns on the far hillside. And yet my pensive eye Rests on the faint blue mountain long; And for the fairy-land of song, That lies beyond, I sigh. The moon unveils her brow; In the mid-sky her urn glows bright, And in her sad and mellowing light The valley sleeps below. Upon the hazel gray The lyre of Autumn hangs unstrung And o?er its tremulous chords are flung The finges of decay. I stand deep musing here, Beneath the dark and motionless beech, Whilst wandering winds of nightfall reach My melancholy ear. The air breathes chill and free: A spirit in soft music calls From Autumn's gray and moss-grown halls, And round her withered tree. The hoar and mantled oak, With moss and twisted i

How often do I talk about . . . myself? I was watching Brian Regan today and was reminded to work on my listening skills. Sure I've got fun stories, adventures and my own tale to tell. But what about you? You also have a story to tell. I want to listen, I want to be actively listening to what you have to say. In order for me to become a friend, a true proper friend I need to listen. I want to be the person who can ask you a question and you know that I really want to know the answer. I want to have some light conversations but then I want to dive deeper. I want to know what makes you tick, what makes you laugh and what hurts. If I want to be a friend on the inside scoop I need to be willing to do what it takes and not always talk about me but listen to your body language, your non verbal cues and respond to them. Today I will listen. Today I will ask questions. Tomorrow? Tomorrow I'll do it all over again.

Four people are making tamales, two groups of two. If Delia can make 4 tamales in the time it takes Rachel to make one and Andrea can fill tamales twice as fast as Sonya. How long will it take the four of them to make 425 tamales? * Knowing that Deli and Rachel are making the outside of the tamales and Andrea and Sonya are filling them. If you know the answer post it in the comments. Perhaps you will win a prize.

This pioneer photo shoot reminded me that I love taking pictures. I think I'll be taking a few more this month. Any volunteers? This one (above) is my favorite because it almost looks legit . This one is my favorite because it captures a great emotion .

Dear diary, Today was a day beyond all days. The sun came out finally after several hours of hiding, can you believe it? We finally had several hours in a row of rain! Sister Annabel and I are very excited to have seen rain. It's been so long since we saw real live rain, in fact I do believe it has been since we left home in the East. Sigh, diary, the east. Do I really miss it back there? No. I do not think so. I had fun but out in the West we can do so much more. The opportunities are almost endless. There are more mountains to climb and more adventures to go on. How long I will remain in the West remains to be seen. The men-folk and other women-folk are returning to the homestead. I for one am very glad. I have missed the people who belong here. By this weekend's time we should all be together again, however we will be adding on almost 200 people from the South. They are sharing our homestead for the weekend and we are more than excited to help feed them too. As my good frien

*I didn't take this picture some guy at NitschkePhotography.com did. But I am sure it might look like that now with this storm The storms have come at last to Wawona. I'm not talking figuratively either. Apparently the whole month of August in the past has been slam packed full of the storms but this year they have waited a few months. They have waited until October. There is something melancholy about sitting inside on a Sabbath afternoon while the rain falls, the lighting strikes and the thunder booms. I love how storms can mirror the same thing that is going on inside sometimes. Other times it is a storm that reminds me how calm and warm things are. This storm right now is one that reminds me of the greatness of God and how He is still in control of my life. Perhaps after the thunder stops I will hear God in the still small voice. That's what I am looking for. I am searching for and I am waiting for. That still small voice that I have heard in the past. My heart has hear