This year I put up a fancy climbing device for my pole beans. The metal pole supports two circular rings, one near the ground and the other 6 feet high, joined by intertwining strings that guide the pole bean vines. In past years, the deer hadn’t touched my outside-the-fence plants, so I rationalized that it would be safe to erect the climbing device outside the fence, too. The fenced gardens had no room for pole beans.

One time while visiting the Crex Meadows Wildlife Area in Grantsburg, Wis., I watched a red fox family at its den. While three of the kits romped and tumbled nearby, the mother lay outside the den entrance and washed a fourth. Holding the kit still with one paw, she proceeded to lick it clean from the nose down to the pads of its paws. She worked with diligence and thoroughness, showing her mother’s heart throughout the process. It was a delightful sight. And to think she had to do this three more times.

Recently someone asked me if I’m becoming more impatient as I grow older. On the contrary, I said that I seem to show more patience than ever before. Rethinking my answer, I must add an exception. I show less patience when interrupted by someone or something, perhaps realizing I must make the most of the time I have left.

Interruptions can distract us. As a young mother, I often told my kids, “Don’t interrupt me now.” Even today, I feel stressed when the phone rings during a crucial part of my editing. Sometimes I cringe, frustrated when someone interrupts me while I’m trying to say something.

I met a young boy who keeps hermit crabs for pets. Called a hermit because it lives in a shell, it gives the sense that fear motivates its actions. Its fragile body prompts it to retreat into its shell at the slightest provocation of danger. As it grows, it climbs out of its crowded shell and crawls into a larger one that it has found somewhere on the beach.

The hermit crab offers some light into human nature because we are like them when we crawl into our self-made, emotional shells when perceiving danger. As we mature, we find larger shells to use as perceived safety. Some of us remain fragile throughout life, always afraid to take risks, always vulnerable to outside threats of danger.

A friend of mine recently lost her husband to Alzheimer’s disease. Although he will be missed by his family and friends, they have the Biblical assurance that he’s now living in Heaven with his Lord. His life was a strong testimony of faith and of service.

My friend’s husband used countless opportunities to show the love of Jesus Christ to people he met. He never hesitated to tell his friends, family and even strangers that Jesus loved them and wanted them to have the same peace and joy he had in a life surrendered to God.

My sister came home from kindergarten one day and told our mom, “I made you a special Christmas present, but I won’t tell you what it is.”

The next day she came home with another message: “I made you a special candy dish, but I won’t tell you who it’s for.” Mom chuckled to herself and pretended her daughter’s “secret” gift would be a surprise.

I sent a request by mail, but the envelope came back to me with a note: “Not Deliverable.” I know I addressed it correctly, so why the return? Had the business folded? Moved with no forwarding address? Had I received wrong information about the address? Should I try again, knowing I might lose the price of another stamp and envelope?

On the way home from upper Michigan’s Keweenaw Peninsula, we came across miles of trilliums that carpeted the forest in an endless white blanket. Each bloom held three pure white petals.

The large-flowered trillium grows in mixed forests of conifers and deciduous trees and in the moist shade of roadsides, flood plains and ravines. It is evident along wooded bluffs and rocky slopes. The word trillium originates from the Latin “tres” for three and “lilium” for lily.

I live by a road that is bordered by both fields and forest. Along the fields the road remains clear most of the time, open to the sun’s drying power. Where the forests encroach right up to the road like fortresses, however, the constant shade causes the road to be perpetually wet. The forests are like walls.

My pretty yard has its first dandelion in bloom. Because last year’s crop far exceeded my efforts to eradicate them, I’m resigned to letting them spread their prolific seeds to their hearts’ content. I don’t like to use chemicals, and there are far too many dandelions to dig out individually. I’ll simply enjoy my yard while it sparkles in golden beauty for a time and then watch the slow demise of the grass as the plants smother it.

On warm days we can’t wait to remove layers of clothing. We shed winter jackets, caps, mittens, fur-lined boots and long johns or sweat pants for shorts and sleeveless shirts.

Something small blew into my eye while I drove down the highway. I had to close the offended eye and drive one-eyed for a while. That’s tricky business. I found myself making constant compensations so I wouldn’t run into things or misjudge curbs and other obstacles.

Ever wonder how or why sneakers were invented? In the late 1700s, people wore rubber-soled shoes that had no right or left foot. Crude by any standards, they prompted the U.S. Rubber Co. to make Keds, a more foot-friendly version. Since being mass-produced in 1917, sneakers have become the shoe of choice for most people today.

As I look through my office window each morning, I can’t help but smile at the antics of visiting critters. The deer romp and kick up their heels, the squirrels play tag and the rabbits wrinkle their noses and wag their stubby tails as they pick at the leftover corn after the deer have had their fill.

I love chocolate, classical music and a good novel. I love to watch the deer, to hike a mountain trail and to spend time with family and friends. I love a good game of cribbage, a run through a rain puddle and making silly faces with my grandchild.