MAY 17, 1945
HYDE PARK, Wednesday—Those of you who like dogs will be amused at my discomfiture yesterday. I had just built what I thought was a perfect pen for Fala. Like all scotties, he is a hunter and he loves to run along the edge of the brook, where he finds innumerable holes down which to poke his nose. So I enclosed a point of land near the cottage and thought that now I had a safe place where he could be left quite happily. No more would I have to search the woods for him and undergo that dreadful sinking of the heart when you call a little dog and get no results whatsoever.
I put him in the yard and left him. Ten minutes later, I found him walking around the lawn. He had calmly swum out into the brook and walked up on the other side of the fence. His expression was one of complete triumph.
Wire fencing is scarce these days even on our place, where it was saved from Fala's old pen. My husband used to have it out on the lawn in front of his study windows at the big house. But I shall have to build this fence out into the water in the hope that Fala won't swim far out from shore.
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I had two young visitors yesterday afternoon who are trying to plan for a delegation to go to the world Youth Conference in London during August and September. I think it is right for young people, particularly those who have been in the armed services, to meet together and discuss the problems of the world from their point of view. But I can see great difficulties in getting transportation so soon as this. I have worked so little with youth groups in the past few years, except for my contacts with the United States Students' Assembly, that I feel very much out of touch with both the leaders of youth organizations and their objectives.
After the young people left me, the postmaster and the supervisor of the village of Hyde Park came down to see me about memorial services on the 30th of May, and we talked over a number of activities in the village. I hope that now I am back here to live, I may be more useful in my own community.
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It is getting a little warmer now, and this morning I thought my chorus of birds was distinctly louder, even though the skies were gray. Last night we had a thunderstorm, and it seems as though we could not have more than a few hours of sunshine at a time. Things are growing, however, and just a little sun will mature everything very rapidly. The cold weather has nevertheless done terrible damage to the fruit trees, and I doubt if the fruit crop in the Hudson valley this year will bring any sizeable returns to the farmers.
Living more of a country life, I have come to listen in the morning to the farmer's hour on the radio while I dress, ending up with the 7 o'clock news. In the old days I should have thought that a radio turned on at 6 a.m. was just a little early, but now I rather like it.