In the 9th century B.C., Elijah was a good person to have around. His effectual prayers for rain delayed Ahab, enabling Elijah to arrive ahead of the ungodly king and execute the false prophets of Baal (1 Kings 18:41-19:1). Blood, gore, and slaughter notwithstanding, Elijah prayed for rain, and rain arrived, with a “sound of abundance.”
We need rain! Smoke from the lightning fires continues to linger throughout Washington and Northern Idaho. Visibility of the basalt canyon walls less than 10 miles from our home remains compromised, as does the breath of some people with health issues.
Elijah is gone from the world; the format of his prayer, in which “he bowed down on the ground, and put his face between his knees” is not necessary for effectual prayer. Elijah can, however, remind us that however we pray with real need and sincerity, we are heard. Whether or not our prayers are effectual is entirely up to the perfect discretion of God–as is the weather.
My camera has taken up a tourist photo proclivity–the sky directly above has a few streaks suggesting blue, but is predominantly ash-white. The photo also makes the hills much more discernible than they are to the eye. I promise, the smoke is really there!
This is actually Earth’s sun, which was flame red when I took this photograph at 6:55 this morning. My camera rendered it white, perhaps because its lens went into shock.
The red sun effect is the product of forest fires in northern Idaho; the nearest to us is about 40 miles away.
The 3,200-foot-high basalt hills that mark the edge of the Palouse and compose our northward viewshed are completely obscured by smoke. It all looks like San Bernardino on an exceptionally smoggy day.
I rue having to bag our plan to fish for crappie and bass on the Snake River today, but I bear the bane of those “sensitive individuals” for whom an alert was issued, suggesting we avoid inhaling our local air.
Lightning, not human carelessness, was determined to be the cause of the fires.
I was intrigued with our tall sunflowers silhouetted behind our Roman shade, as the sun set behind them.
I am furious with our chickens, especially the witchy one who just attacked me.
Now that our erstwhile rooster is fulfilling his highest and best destiny (my husband sacrificed and canned the beast the last weekend), the hens are on the march.
I have brought the chickens an apple core as a treat every day of their post-baby chick lives. They have always received it hungrily and fought over it, each ultimately securing a portion. They never complained when I collected whatever eggs they laid. Today was different.
I brought them their apple core and held up the hatch of their hutch to check for eggs. For the first time ever, not one egg was intact. They have sometimes broken an egg but left others intact. Today all the eggs–I could not quite tell whether there had been three or four–were smashed and consumed. Only the shell fragments remained.
As I held up the hatch, one hen leaped onto my arm–these creatures have impressive claws–in an attempt to escape the hutch. I pushed her back and closed and latched the hatch. Then I went in and scrubbed my arm with Bactine. Chickens are incredibly filthy creatures.
It’s actually a negligible casualty, and chickens are far too dull to formulate an intention. I will still bring the hens their apple core, for two more days. We have two apples left, and the storage apples we get in summer taste like paper mâché. There will be no more apples until Fall.
I doubt the chickens will learn any manners by then–though I suppose that’s fair, since I keep removing their eggs.
Once again, it is 110° F in Effieland, and Effie is there. I call her and call her, but she is hiding very effectually. Finally, she gives me a mew cue. I still cannot see her. I call to her again. Her mew is closer–under a dense grape vine, inches from where I stand. She is fine; the vine provides plenty of shade. She still will not come in. The grape vine provides shade and a fun place to hide out from her worried Mum.
We would probably all like to hide under a grape vine once in a while; Effie can actually accomplish it.
Filed under Animals, Animals, Nature, Gardens, Cats, Effie, Effieland, Home Life, Photos, Seasons, Weather
Effie was napping on her perch yesterday while I sat on the bed next to her, finishing Victor Hugo’s prodigious account of the French Revolution. I put Effie’s pretty kerchief her Aunt Jane made her for Christmas on her for a birthday photo. Such a pretty kerchief should be worn for many celebrations–especially her birthday, which is today. She is three!
I finished reading Victor Hugo’s novel, The History of a Crime: The Testimony of an Eye Witness this afternoon. It’s comprehensive. The French Revolution was horrific, but it doesn’t make America’s War Between the States look exactly humanitarian either. It was a tense read for me. Hugo, however, does articulate some mollifying humanitarian principles.
The star possesses no anger; the dawn bears no malice. Light is satisfied in being light. Light is everything; the human race has no other love.
France knows herself beloved because she is good, and the greatest of all powers is to be loved. (italics mine)
The French Revolution is for all the world. It is a battle perpetually waged for Right, and perpetually gained for Truth. Right is the innermost part of man; Truth is the innermost part of God.