Celeste Figs, I Think

I'm not completely certain of the name of our fig tree, but according to some pictures I saw in a Southern Living magazine, I think ours would be classified as the variety known as the celeste. Whatever they are, they make really good fig preserves.

Speaking of which, I'm excited to have a project in mind for this year's fig preserves: home-made fig newtons. I'm hoping they will be much better than the store-bought versions or else I have real questions as to why all those recipes for fig newtons are so frequent on the Internet recipe sites. To me, it implies there's a genuine benefit in making them rather than purchasing them. But, I'll make that judgement myself once the weather cools a bit and I have the patience to bake again. Then I'll see if the recipe I've chosen to try deserves a page in my cookbook. 

Dedicated to Timmy

I had several months away from photography  and editing so this photo merge was my first project for quite a while and I'd forgotten how much I enjoy it. 

This dragon fly and this cone flower just could not get together in the real world the afternoon I was shooting, so I had to introduce them in photoshop.

I'm dedicating this one to the little boy I saw yesterday.  He needs my prayers and I want to remember him every time I see this, and pray for his safety. The way in which his mother was treating him was most disturbing and I'm not quite sure what I should have done in that situation.

As I was checking out at Kroger yesterday, I saw this very angry mother grab her son (he was eleven or twelve years in age) by the neck of his tee shirt and yank him up to her face as she began to direct all sorts of snarling words toward him. I'm not sure how long this went on, not really long, but he appeared to be too weak to stand it. So, he put his arms around her and busted out crying and went sort of limp. When he started to cry she put her hand over his mouth  so people wouldn't start to look at them. When she finally released him, she sent him to get something, but he still looked so sad, so weary, a  little disoriented,  and he was still sniffling. I was physically unable to follow him, but I have spent all of  last night and this morning wishing I could have so I could have asked him if he was all right. He was very skinny and the saddest looking little fellow I have ever seen. He was far too young to be so weary and the whole scene broke my heart.

Knowing some one's name helps me to pray for him or her, but since I don't know this little man's identity, I've given him the name "Timmy" and God knows who I'm talking about. "Timmy" needs help; I'm sure of it.