She had this amazing almost regal demeanor about her such that we instinctively knew we were watching something sacred.

I'm not referring to the lead in my latest novel. I'm lovingly referring to the heroine in the spring/summer story our family has watched unfold on our very own front porch. Mommy Robin. Cue the applause for this hard-working and awe-inspiring bird.

This spring, Mommy Robin moved onto the trim/frame above a window on our front porch. In late April she proceeded to build a textbook-perfect nest that you'll see in pics I will post on my web site.

We promptly stopped using the front door and started feeling like we were watching the best new show. This? Oh, this was something a thousand times better than following someone on social media or anything else one buries their head in a screen to obsess over.

We followed the Robin family all the way through. It was humbling to see the effort, to see how infrequently she left her eggs to grab a bite for herself, and the eagle-eye she kept on everyone and everything. This bird was WORKING. She was visibly exhausted and frazzled, no mistaking it.

The gift of seeing her grow to trust our family just a little bit more than everyone else, was precious. We never overstepped our boundaries, but there is a way of knowing that you've passed a special test and
aren't seen in the same light as, say, the package-delivery guy she squawks at or flees from.

I won't bore you with grandparent-like pride about the egg sitting, the hatching, the little wee fuzzy heads that grew rapidly stronger and bigger, and Daddy Robin helping feed and squawking if other birds came too close for his taste. But, suffice to say we saw every blessed step and stage, including (teary-eyes and all) the very day all four birds left the nest and wobbled and fluttered down to the porch behind our juniper in their first flights. It. Was. Emotional.

And, friends, get this...it happened all over again. Yep. Truly. I couldn't believe it, but this summer, Mommy Robin was back and started fresh with a new nest. This time she had three little ones and I'm delighted to report that everyone is well and the very last bird left the nest two days ago.

I learned a few interesting things I didn't know. First, robins do this whole process amazingly fast. I want to say the whole process took about a month each time–maybe five weeks–from the time she was nest building to fledglings.

Second, Daddy Robin comes to help her protect the nest and feed the babies. He then helps teach the fledglings the worm-hunting, flying around safely "ropes" of being a robin. And they mate with the same bird for the entire season, and both are involved in getting the fledglings off to a good start.

Third, they are hanging around our yard still...they will likely continue to do so, maybe for years to come, the kids and grandkids (squeal). This is now their yard, too.

Lastly, they only rebuild a nest in the same exact spot when they feel they've been particularly successful and it is "just right" for them. They have the most eggs and hatchlings in spring (4 tops), then it gets fewer in summer (2-3) and they may have a third nest (1-2).

I've got our family so used to never using our front door, that if Mommy Robin wants to make this an annual "thing" we are good to go. (Pretty please!)

Thanks for reading and humoring me. I'm like an honorary robin auntie or grannie.

I hope your summer is going swimmingly, if you'll pardon the pun.

You deserve it.

Best,
Annie ​

It is hot everywhere right now.
​
The bright colors below remind me of popsicles and brightly colored toenails. It's officially flip flop season. Even here in the Northeast we're reaching daily 100+ degree heat index.

Summer reading has a special charm doesn't it?

The Heritage View Series is a great way unwind this summer.

Our friends from the first book are revisited in the second book, and we'll meet them again in book three, which I'm working on now. They are all written to be read individually or as a series. But one thing is important. You are going to get your happily-ever-after.

Stay cool, my friends.

-Annie

My lovely publisher has made Book 1 in the Heritage View series free for three days in June. Check it out June 24-25-26. Absolutely perfect for a book with a wedding planner as the leading lady, if I do say so myself.

You can download the first and second book for just 3.99 and start your summer off with the fine folks of Heritage View. It is a charming, relaxing and satisfying romance that will leave you in a lemonade-and-hammock mood.

You deserve it.

-Annie

​https://tinyurl.com/y8ttx6vc

​

We recently lost two 14-ft. junipers in the three nor'easters that came rapid-fire, one right after the other. The snow (typical for March) was remarkably heavy and came down at such a rate that we couldn't do anything to save them. For those of you who aren't from cold climes, the spring snow is wetter and therefore more dense. It clings to the branches in a beautiful way, but causes more damage than the fluffy dry stuff we get during colder temperatures.

The snow clung to the greenery, quickly freezing to the branches, impossible to safely dislodge. The trees heaved up out of the frozen ground at the roots, bending and breaking boughs, simply unable to bear the weight.

We loved these junipers because at night they would fill up with birds. If I walked past them at dusk, they would begin to twitter and quiver, alive with our feathered friends. They would chirp softly until full darkness. Delightful.

So, we will miss them, but are determined to look at this as an opportunity to give the birds new evening shelter. If you live in a tough winter area, you learn to garden without an overly soft heart (I'm still trying).

Now, what to plant?! There is more shade there than when we first moved in; high shade from oak trees that we planted about 15 years ago. There is southern exposure, and a bit of a microclimate protected from the wind by the side of the garage. No wonder the birdies adored the spot!

I'm thinking big shrubs. I'm full of hope that the birds will settle back in as soon as they see that this is the same cozy roost. We have other spots in the yard for them, of course, but this was a favorite cozy nook.

I'll plant new shrubs, add bulbs at the base, and put a bird bath right in the middle to woo them back.

Think spring! You deserve it. ​

This book sniffing is not weird to you fellow book lovers. It is darn near a cliché, in fact. But is it really the smell of the paper that makes me close my eyes and sigh into the pages? This is hardly scientific, but my sigh-worthy book scent is crisp, clean, yet still somehow warm. Not the least bit musty or sour. It tends to be from heavy paper with a buttery parchment color. That is about as close as I can come to explaining it. But I sure do know it when my nose encounters it.

That smell. The smell of the familiar that links me back to my earliest days at the small public library in our tiny village. The days of cards, stamps, and one marvelously stereotypical bespectacled librarian (in my case) controlling it all from the desk by the door.

I used to love to read the date stamps on the pocket in the back of each book . . . remember those? They mapped the journey of a book. I wanted to see how often or how long ago someone had checked out the very same book I was now reading. Sometimes they added that little paper because they needed more space to stamp. And you had to return to the library with the physical book in hand to renew it and receive another stamp in the back.

That smell. The smell of the unfamiliar, too. The possibilities, the characters, places, and authors I was becoming acquainted with for the very first time. Thrilling and enchanting in all their glorious promise. Old friends. New friends.

You understand. You remember that feeling. You know that I can remember each age and stage by whom I was reading at that time, because you can do the same thing. Our daughter picked up a book today and I sighed happily in recognition. "Oh, yes . . . that was second grade. Another made me chuckle at my "turn of the century phase " when I wanted high-waist dresses and huge bows in my hair.

You understand. You remember. You know.

Every time I venture into a library I think "why have I stayed away so long?"

Have you sniffed a book lately? You deserve it. ​

Christmas is not a time nor a season, but a state of mind. To cherish peace and goodwill, to be plenteous in mercy, is to have the real spirit of Christmas.

Calvin Coolidge

​A new blog post:

https://www.goodreads.com/author_blog_posts/16212595-happy-new-year

Those of you who read my Heritage View books know I love to garden. I've been mucking around in our real gardens today, which are never as tidy, beautiful or well planned as Gen's in my first book. A gal can dream.

Nothing particularly fun on the agenda today, to be honest, though a bad day in the garden . . . still better than a good day doing, well, many other less gratifying labors.

​I have too much grass growing into my beds due to a lack of disciplined edge work last fall. You gardeners know that a good sharp edging tool and a four-inch deep wedge-shaped little trench is all it takes. But it is hard work and needs to be refreshed more than once a season to maintain it.

​I slacked in this respect last fall and now I am bemoaning it and paying the price. Nobody to blame but myself, so out I went early this morning. Got enough done to feel I'm on my way to reclamation, so now I take a break.

​The pink hydrangea is the 'Endless Summer' variety that is really my only option up north. It doesn't get as much acid as my others, so it stays a lovely clear pink. My blue ones stay blue by putting juniper clippings at their base after I prune our junipers. The clippings add acid to the soil as they decompose. Once a year, I'll dump some Holly-Tone on them when I feed my other acid-loving plants, but I'm not diligent about it.

​I'm really going to date myself when I talk about the second picture above. My Chuckle Patch. Magic Garden reference, anyone? I know the Chuckle Patch looked more like daisies, but honestly, if you can get sun-loving daisies to grow at the base of a big shade-tree like they pretended to do in that show, then you really DO have a magic garden.

​Anyway, my Chuckle Patch is Coreopsis. This variety, 'Zagreb,' does better in my garden than 'Moonbeam' so I grow it even though I'd truly prefer the lemony calm of the latter if I could get it to thrive.

Okay, this last one has our hummingbirds in raptures. It is Mondarda, a.k.a. bee balm, or (great piece of trivia) the ingredient for "Oswego tea" (look it up). It smells herbal and the color  of mine is between red and fuschia. I believe it is 'Raspberry Wine' but I can't swear to it. Bees, butterflies, and hummingbirds adore it, they really do. Easy as pie to grow.

Engaged in Heritage View will be live on Amazon May 24th.