Sorry, I’ve been out of town, out of commission and out of balance. Taking a tip from Life (or whatever magazine it is) I’m going to get you updated with - This Week in Pictures. Except, these are from the past couple of months . . .

In descending order, starting with April . . .

This is a closed bridge near Stephenville. It ceased to operate sometime in the 1930’s and is older than that.

Water rushing below

What’s under the bridge? Chili Peppers? It’s a long way down . . .

“Jinny, get back here!” Of course, they were all on it too. No one has faith in my grace . . .

The next day, after surviving rockhunting unscathed, I get attacked by this plant.

A couple of weeks later, back at home, I become an aunt.

Uncle Sean is entranced by the cuteness. (Shhhhh, he’ll deny it)

Back at home with two seconds to breathe before the next rockhunting trip, I almost turn on the fan. Thank heavens I spied this little guy first. He kind of blends in with the blades.

On a country road hunting for rocks on our way to Thurber (ghost town on the Interstate) we see these fruit bushes. Everyone agrees that they look like wild plums, smell like wild plums, so I assume they must be wild plums and take a small taste. Not a bite, just the tip of my tongue, and I get abused by Sean and parents. Guess what they were - wild plums. We’re going to pick some and make some jam if they’re still there the next time we’re up.

The Great Rockhunter takes a rest and enjoys a little city in the country.

Sean has left me alone with my parents. Let the adventure begin.

Where’s Waldo? See if you can find Pam in the cane break

For Haggis’ sake, I’ll keep the cemetery stuff brief. Speaking of - Haggis, don’t read the caption on the next photo.

My parents asked some neighbors why this house wasn’t lived in. Turns out someone was decapitated in it in the 30’s and no one has lived in it since. Check out the orb under the window in the 2nd pic. I am hoping to do a full investigation over the July fourth weekend.

All right, one more. Haggis quit reading. After reading the ghost story of Jenny Papworth and McDow Hole on the internet, Dad and I decided we wanted to search for it. Mom went along too. We couldn’t get access to the area in the summer because the creekbed is grown over with weeds and the road that used to go to it a hundred years ago is now a private ranch road. We did get this far into the creek though and I thought this was a cool, creepy picture. Sometimes she can be seen in this area of the creek, but we didn’t see anything that night. We hit the decapitation house on the way back from here.

On a lighter note . . .

Dad says: “You’re not taking a picture of that calf licking its butt, are you?” Yup, Dad. Sure am.

(There’s your krackpype moment, people)

And to round out the month, here’s a picture of baby and grandma. Getting bigger every day!