My herb garden is really looking very good. The lavender survived the winter and is growing and blooming. I am drying a bit and make a couple loaves of lavender bread already. Yes. Lavender bread. It is quite tasty and tastes especially wonderful with homemade strawberry jam.

The oregano also came back and it huge. My thyme and rosemary are not spectacular but are big enough for my use. So, I made a big pot of spaghetti which we will be eating tomorrow night. Nothing better than spaghetti with fresh herbs.

I love summer.

Mary

The Baghdad Zoo reopened last Sunday. There was an article (Believe it or not) in the Sheboygan Press about the reopening.

Apparantly there was not a big attendance because of the fear of violence on the streets but a few dozen people, including several U. S. Soldiers came to see the animals. The zoo population is still low but includes the remaining animals that originally were in the zoo plus those that survived from the various private zoos in several palaces owned by Saddam and his family.

According to the article, the zoo was a very popular place prior to the war. It was usually so crowded there was little room to stand. However, it is a beginning and the animals are now being cared for. The zoo seems to need a lot of updating, as its cages are the old concrete cells and the keepers are not all that well trained in animal nutrition and/or care. But it is a beginning and there are several wildlife, conservation and zoo organizations behind the cause of maintaining and updating the facility and further training the keepers for the citizens of Iraq.

I'll keep updating as I find news.

Mary

I spent part of the afternoon with my Mother. She is such a treasure. Years ago, I heard Liam Clancy recite a poem that I always felt was a portrait of her. After I heard it, I ran into him at Irish Fest and asked him the name of the poem and it's author and he kindly told me. I will share it with you. Everyone who knows my Mother will see her in this poem.

The Planter's Daughter by Austin Clarke

When night stirred at sea
And the fire brought a crowd in,
They say that her beauty
Was music in mouth
And few in the candlelight
Thought her too proud,
For the house of the planter
Is known by the trees.

Men that had seen her
Drank deep and were silent,
The women were speaking
Wherever she went -
As a bell that is rung
Or a wonder told shyly,
And O she was the Sunday
In every week.

Enjoy your day

Mary